


Beautiful Madness

by BurningLizard



Series: Aedan Cousland [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Fluff, Reunions, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-21 08:19:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 48,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3684999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningLizard/pseuds/BurningLizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morrigan thinks back on her relationship with the Hero of Ferelden, as she tracks his progress towards Skyhold through the ring she gave him so long ago. Then skip back several months, to the daily life of Morrigan and Kieran in Skyhold and their interactions with the Inquisition members.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Morrigan scoffed and threw aside the book she had been trying to read. Her heart was not in it and thus she was unable to concentrate on her research. Her link with Aedan, normally delegated to the back of her mind while he was off in the west, was blazing in her head as she felt him draw closer. He was still days away, and despite herself she found that she was anxiously awaiting his return. 

Did he succeed in his quest? Was the question most at the forefront of her mind. Morrigan found that she was truly nervous about the outcome. Many times she had tried to convince herself that she would be okay if he did not return, or if he had failed in his quest. But deep in her heart she knew that not to be the case. 

She would have to tell him about the Well of Sorrows, about Flemeth, about the Old God Soul. If nothing else he would be overjoyed to know that Kieran was free of the Urthemiel’s soul. He never said anything, but Morrigan knew that he felt guilty about every nightmare that Kieran suffered under the Old God’s influence. There were times that he looked at his son and she knew a small part of him wished he was a normal child. But that part was impossibly small, if nothing else Morrigan had never known that anyone could be so proud of their offspring. Once she had thought that children were not worth the time and effort they demanded. But if her own experiences bearing and giving birth to Kieran had not changed her mind on the matter, seeing the love in Aedan’s eyes the first time he beheld his son, and every time after that, made the tribulations worth it.  
—-  
He was within a day’s journey of Skyhold. He had stopped moving for the night and should be arriving tomorrow. Morrigan had not told anyone besides Kieran, wishing to keep the knowledge as their family’s little secret for now. She would let Leliana know tomorrow morning, so the Spymaster could prepare properly for her Aedan’s arrival.

Her lover’s presence was now a bright beacon in her mind. As she lay in bed it seemed as if his nearby presence filled her with with warmth, and if she closed her eyes she could almost imagine that he was laying there next to her. But when she would reach out to him she find the other side of the bed cold and empty. 

Morrigan groaned. She did not consider herself a needy woman, but knowing that he was so near and yet not right next to her was driving her mad. 

This is what I was afraid of all those years ago, she thought. Even when he is not here he drives me mad!

Ah, but what sweet madness it was. Her entire world had been flipped since meeting Aedan in the Cocari wilds more than ten years ago. In all their time together he had remained a passionate and proficient lover, and their sex life would be the envy of all if they only knew. And yet it was not his lovemaking that she missed, as mad as the thought seemed to her even now. His presence alone was what she craved, and all the little quirks that made him the man she loved.

But most importantly she missed how Kieran’s eyes would light up, how he would smile, when showing his father a new spell he had learned, or sharing a new bit of knowledge. She missed watching as Aedan taught Kieran how to properly wield a sword—a skill Morrigan found unimportant, but it brought Aedan so much joy to teach his skills to his son. 

She missed how Aedan would smile at his son, and then at Morrigan, who would find herself unable to keep the flush from her cheeks upon seeing the pure gratitude towards her for the family she had given him. 

Family. It had never meant anything to her, having grown up just with her mother. She knew that to Aedan it meant everything, and he would use the word whenever he could. While she herself still had trouble wrapping her mind around the concept. 

“After I come back,” he had said before leaving upon his quest. “We should take Kieran and introduce him to Fergus.”

“Why?” Morrigan had asked. “What would be the purpose. Kieran has us, he has no need for anyone else.”

“I just,” Aedan had tried to and failed to cover the flash of hurt in his eyes upon Morrigan’s response. “I thought Kieran should meet his uncle. And Fergus has the right to meet his nephew.”

Morrigan was skeptical, but where once she would have pressed her argument she relented. “I do not see the purpose,” she said. “But if it is important to you, then I see no reason not to.”

She supposed, Corypheus was no longer a threat, and the only reason Morrigan still resided at Skyhold was to make it easier for Aedan to find her and Kieran. She could go to meet him, but better to stay put and let him come to them, since he knew exactly where they were. 

With a sigh Morrigan rolled onto her side, closed her eyes and tried her very best to imagine that his arms were wrapping around her as she drifted off to sleep.

—-

He was almost at the gate now, she could sense through their connection, but she remained seating in the garden. Morrigan refused to go rushing into his arms like some desperate woman. She ached to feel him, but there was no reason to let him, or anyone else in Skyhold, know that. 

We are neither of us so weak we would die of loneliness, Morrigan had said and she intended to stick to her statement. And for the years he had been gone that statement had been true, but the stronger their connection became as he traveled closer to her, suddenly years worth of loneliness and want came crashing down on her. She had a reputation to maintain, that much was true; but more than anything she knew that she could not be trusted to control herself once she saw him. She half thought to wait for him in her room, but she knew then there would be no stopping it. So better the garden, where there were enough eyes on them to keep from ravishing him where he stood, but not so many eyes that she would embarrass herself should her control slip just a little.

Her foot twitched, shaking the pages of the book she was failing to read. Surely by now he was already in the castle. So what was keeping him?

He should be greeting Kieran now, her son had no problems with whether anyone knew how much he loved his father, and so he was waiting at the gates for Aedan to arrive. Morrigan wondered how many were thinking of her as a heartless woman for not being there. Better they thought that than knowing the truth. She knew precisely what people thought of her, and that impression of her was far too valuable to throw away, no matter how badly she wished to throw herself in Aedan’s arms for all to see. 

Open displays of lust were one thing, but what she truly feared was to allow anyone else to see her very real affection for the man she had more and more begun to consider as her husband. 

The book was set aside. He should be greeting the Inquisitor now, most likely holding Kieran in his arms while doing so. He would hug Leliana in greeting—Morrigan’s eye twitched at that thought—and make polite conversation with the others. He would not wonder where Morrigan was, he knew her far to well to expect her to come running into his arms. Just as she knew that he would never let her hear the end of it were she to do so. 

He was delaying, she knew he was! So, it was to be a game then? She remained seated on her bench, the wood was hard and becoming more uncomfortable, but she resisted the urge to stand. 

Perhaps Kieran was leading him to the small suite the Inquisitor had given them for the duration of their stay. Aedan would undoubtedly be wearing his armor, he would want to remove it first, before coming to see her.

Morrigan hissed and stood. She rushed to the doorway leading out of the gardens. They had not seen each other in years, and he was taking his sweet time to…

The wall of metal appeared out of nowhere. It took Morrigan a moment to realize, as she steadied herself that it was no wall, rather she had run into a man wearing a suit of armor. Grey Warden armor she noted. 

“Missed me so much you couldn’t wait to throw yourself into my arms I see,” Aedan said as he wrapped his broad arms around her slender waist. 

“Not so,” said Morrigan, ignoring the warmth building in her chest as she looked up at his handsome features. His hair and beard were longer, that would need to be remedied, and his normally pale skin was tanned from over-exposure to the sun. She reached up to feel his face, to be certain he was real. “I had merely forgotten a piece of necessary research in my rooms. I was in a hurry to retrieve it.” Her words belied the smile she could not resist forming on her face. 

He was grinning as they fell into their comfortable banter. “But you did miss me?” His hands, freed from their gauntlets, were running across her back and sides, remembering familiar textures. She leaned into his embrace with a contented sigh. 

“I missed parts of you,” she said.

Aedan laughed. "Only parts?"

"Most of them," Morrigan said. "Well, all of them actually."

Kieran giggled, oblivious to the deeper meaning of his parents’ remarks, but enjoying the loving familiarity they so easily found themselves in. Morrigan tousled his hair as he stood next to his father. She looked up at Aedan. 

“Did you bring me anything?” She asked in her most winsome tone, that she knew drove Aedan crazy.

Aedan smirked, reaching up to cup her face in both hands, leaning in for a kiss. It was deep, intense, and full of years of longing. Morrigan felt her knees give way, she reached up to steady herself against his armor. She pulled herself together, matching Aedan's intensity, saying with her passion what she could not speak out loud. 

Finally they parted. Aedan’s eyes were a storm of longing, love, lust, and joy, matching what she knew must be in her own eyes. 

“That was nice,” she said. “But I was hoping for something shinier.”

Barking out a laugh Aedan tightened his arms around her. “I’ve missed you so much, woman,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. Morrigan leaned against his chest. 

“I missed you too,” she whispered. He did not react, but she knew he heard her. “I love you.”

His mouth was by her ear. “I love you too,” he whispered. Then he straightened up, releasing Morrigan from his embrace. With Kieran in one arm and Morrigan in the other he smiled. "We have a lot to talk about,” he said.

“Yes,” Morrigan said, with a pang of guilt as she thought of the Well of Sorrows. “But perhaps someplace more…private.”

Aedan nodded. “Good idea.”

“I can show you to our rooms, father!” Kieran said, enthusiastically taking the lead. The two followed their son out of the courtyard, while the boy told Aedan everything that had happened since he had left.


	2. Arrival At Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues, by jumping back a few months, Aedan has to learn what his family has been up to in his absence.

They were coming upon the fortress, Morrigan turned from the window to look at Kieran. He was napping, had been for the last several hours, despite the rough terrain the carriage travelled over. Morrigan stretched the fatigue out of her muscles, then gently shook her son awake. 

“Kieran,” she whispered. “We are almost there, little man.”

Kieran woke up, yawning, and sat up straight blinking his sleep blurred eyes. 

“Did you sleep well,” Morrigan asked. 

Kieran shook his head. “No. I had another dream, mother.”

Morrigan sighed. Kieran was such a deep sleeper, that it was impossible to tell when he was dreaming—he was like his father in that aspect. The dreams haunted his every sleeping hour, and rarely were they pleasant. Moments like these, seeing the fleeting haunted look in Kieran’s eyes before daylight banished the slumbering fears, were the only times that Morrigan wished she had never heard of the ritual from Flemeth. A part of her wished she could undo what had been done. Then she would tell herself that the ritual had saved Aedan’s life, and that Kieran had a destiny that would outweigh a few nightmares. Perhaps if she repeated the same thought often enough to herself and Kieran, one of them would eventually believe it.

“Well,” she said as the carriage pulled through the front gates. “We are here.”

Opening the door, Morrigan stepped out into the cold air. Orlais was significantly warmer than Ferelden in most parts, particularly in Val Royeaux, so in a way the temperature felt like a homecoming. 

“Do not forget your cloak,” Morrigan said as Kieran climbed out of the carriage. He sighed, but dutifully put on the small, fur lined traveling cloak. He had not lived through the harsh winters of the wilds, nor the bitter cold of the Northern coast. Morrigan would be damned before her son caught cold. 

People were milling around, clearly used to new arrivals, such that none gave her or Kieran a second thought. Except for the familiar figure that was approaching. 

“Morrigan,” Leliana said. 

“Leliana,” Morrigan said. The two women regarded each other with guarded expressions. There was no love lost between either of them, but much time had passed since last they knew one another. Perhaps this time things would be different?

Leliana glanced sideways at Kieran, who was glancing around the castle with interest, particularly the stables and the large horses within. “So…” she said. “That is your son? His son?”

“Of course,” Morrigan said, she placed her hands on Kieran’s shoulders, guiding him to stand before her. “This is Kieran. Kieran, this is Leliana, she is a friend…of your father.”

“Hello,” Kieran said. “Father told me stories about you. You’re very pretty, just like he said.”

Morrigan repressed the twinge of annoyance at the implied compliment Aedan had bid the bard, and laughed instead. Leliana’s eyes had widened almost imperceptibly. Clearly she had been caught off guard by Kieran revealing that he had met his father. As far as she knew Aedan had not told any of his old friends about finding her and Kieran, or of the time they had spent together afterwards as a family. 

“Why,” Leliana stuttered for just a moment. “Thank you. That’s so sweet.” She recovered quickly.

“You’re welcome,” Kieran said.

“He has his father’s irrepressible charm I’m afraid,” Morrigan said. “One of the better qualities he’s inherited.”

“I can see that,” Leliana said. “So, Aedan has met Kieran?”

“He has,” Morrigan said. “We lived together for a time, but currently his duties have taken him elsewhere.”

Surprisingly, Leliana smiled. A sincere smile. “It’s good to hear that you found each other. Do you know when he will return.”

“I do not,” Morrigan said. “We do not keep in contact so I cannot say when his task will be done. But he is well. I would have felt if he was otherwise.”

A playful expression crossed Leliana’s face, one reminiscent of their time traveling together. “Living together with a man for so many years, having a son with him. It almost sounds like…”

“Yes, yes,” Morrigan interrupted. “I know what you are going to say. It is almost as though we are married. Well,” she pulled the glove from her left hand. “You can save your joke, the punchline has preceded you by several years.”

Leliana was left speechless, staring at the ring—identical to the one Morrigan had given Aedan more than ten years ago—on Morrigan’s left finger. 

“You…and he…really?” The spymaster’s bardic skill for words left her, and Morrigan felt the familiar rush she felt when coming out on top of any confrontation.

“You know I hate to do things because they are expected of me,” Morrigan said. “And since none ever expected me to tie myself to another in such a fashion…” She shrugged. “Best to be unpredictable, is it not?”

“That’s why you married him?” Leliana was shaking her head in disbelief. 

“Well,” Morrigan smirked. “There were other reasons. For one I don’t intend to be separated from him ever again. And it made him happy. I see no need to explain my actions other than that.”

“I’m happy for both of you,” Leliana said. “That you both found love.”

It was a clumsy attempt, but it had worked in the past so Morrigan could not blame Leliana. She had once been most vocal about her opinions on such foolishness as love. Well, she had long since learned that Leliana was not the only foolish woman.

“Yes,” Morrigan said. “It has been much more pleasant than I expected.”

“Come,” Leliana said, shaking her head with a wry smile. “I will show you to your quarters.” She motioned towards two of the stable hands to help with the luggage. Of which Morrigan had only what she herself could carry, and the same was true for Kieran. Except for one thing.

“I want to carry it!" Kieran said, as one of the stable hands lifted the large, cloth wrapped object from the roof of the carriage.

“Kieran,” Morrigan sighed. “You cannot lift it. Let him carry it for us.”  
 “But it’s father’s sword!” Kieran said. “He told me to take care of it. I want to carry it!”

Morrigan rolled her eyes fondly, she glanced over at the stablehand, who was having some trouble maneuvering the large blade in his grip. “Very well,” she gestured to the stablehand. “Let him carry the hilt, you hold the rest of the blade.”

“This is a sword?” One of the stablehands asked incredulously. 

“Yes,” Morrigan said. “It is very previous, so be certain not to drop it.”

Leliana led the way. “So,” she said. “He left his sword behind.”

“Indeed,” Morrigan said. “He said he learned his lesson from the blight and wasn’t going to be carrying the thing all the way into the western lands.” She sniffed at remembered frustration. “I would be much happier if he was properly equipped, but he seemed to think a sword and bow would be enough protection.”

Leliana laughed. “I hope he’s been practicing archery then,” she clearly remembered just as well as Morrigan how well his attempts at archery turned out in the past.

“He practiced,” Morrigan said. “But I would not trust him in a melee with the thing.”

Up the stairs and through several doors and hallways Leliana led them. Finally she stopped at a door that led to a room, furnished with a desk, several empty bookshelves, a fireplace and couch, and a small table assumedly for eating dinner at. A ladder led to what Morrigan assumed was a bedroom, and upon inspection another door led to a smaller room, where a bed for Kieran was. 

The stablehand and Kieran, who was struggling under the weight of his father’s greatsword, placed the sword against the wall by the fireplace as directed by Morrigan. Kieran collapsed on the couch, with a satisfied sigh. Morrigan did not see the value of idolizing a weapon like that, but to Kieran it was a symbol of his father. Larger than life, something to aspire to—which is why she would so often catch him trying to lift the fool thing. At least he had not managed to take it out of its scabbard. The weapon was sharp, as Morrigan recalled, and Kieran could easily hurt himself if not supervised around the sword. She had certainly seen it cut creatures larger than Kieran in the past. 

“Aedan had told me you were with child when you left at the end of the blight,” Leliana said. “So I decided you would need a little more space than a single room.” The look she gave Morrigan clearly said that she had been skeptical as to whether Morrigan would have kept the child. Aedan had clearly not told her the whole story then, otherwise she would know how important Kieran was. 

Or at least what made him important at the time. Since then Morrigan had found many more reasons why her son was important. Aedan had offered a few more reasons himself as Kieran grew up.

“Thank you,” Morrigan said. “It is suitable. And…quite nice. Thank you.”

“So,” Leliana said. “Arcane Adviser. What is your first order of business?”

“To start,” Morrigan said, placing her bag by the ladder leading to what she assumed was her bedroom. If not she and Leliana would be having decidedly less pleasant conversations about her accommodations. “I do believe I will need to feed my son. We have not eaten since our morning meal, and the afternoon meal has already passed. How does one go about procuring food in this fortress?”

“I’ll have some lunch sent up,” Leliana said. “There is a mess hall, but I imagine you would prefer some privacy. So we can arrange for meals to be brought to your rooms. Cullen, Josephine, the Inquisitor and I do the same.”

“Thank you,” Morrigan said. “You have been much more accommodating than I expected.”

Leliana gave her a calculating look. “I do not like you, you were always rude and unpleasant, vicious. But Aedan liked you, and he clearly likes you enough to still be with you. He’s one of my best friends, and for his sake alone I would tolerate your presence. However, I also know he’s a good man. So he sees something in you that you do not let anyone else see. So as long as you are being polite, I see no reason not to be polite myself.”

Laughing, where in the past she would have bristled against the bard’s statement she now found only amusement. She had become much more self aware as of late, knowing when to use her barbed tongue as a weapon, and when to rely on common civility. The Orlesian Court had taught her many things. Some she already knew, but like Aedan it had caused her to reevaluate some of her previous opinions. 

“Most generous,” Morrigan said. “You have my thanks, and my word that I will keep needless heckling to a minimum. Unless provoked of course.”

Leliana chuckled. “I can’t see how I could expect more. I will leave you to the rooms. Feel free to explore the fortress after your lunch.”

“I had intended to,” Morrigan said, as Leliana left, closing the door behind herself. 

She turned to look at the rooms again. The empty bookshelves would need filling, she would have to find the library and hope they had the necessary literature. If not she would need to see about commissioning some materials. 

For now, at least, there was the matter of lunch. Hopefully the food would not take too long to arrive. “Kieran, put away your things and…” She noted that he was not on the couch anymore. Morrigan glanced over at the sword, but it remained undisturbed. Nor was he in his room, and after a quick climb up the ladder, she determined that he was not in the suite at all. 

“Wonderful,” Morrigan sighed. Of all the qualities Kieran could have inherited from her she supposed that his curiosity and insatiable drive to explore his surroundings were not the worst. It did leave her spending far more time than necessary trying to track him down. 

There was a knock on the door, for a moment she supposed that Kieran had returned. But she dismissed the thought almost instantly for neither would he knock, nor would he return willingly so soon. Morrigan opened the door, to see a pair of serving women—one elf and one human—carrying trays of stew, bread, and cheese. They paused in the doorway, clearly intimidated by her. Morrigan did not quite understand why that was always the first reaction people had to her, but she saw no reason to complain. A reputation was a valuable thing, and if fools decided to build her own reputation for her who was she to deny them?

“Put it on the table,” she said. They two moved to comply and left the room as quickly as possible. 

Morrigan considered her options. She could go looking for Kieran and the food would be cold by the time she returned. On the other hand, he needed to learn a lesson about wandering off. Normally she was content to leave him to his own devices, he could take care of himself well enough, but in a new environment she herself was unfamiliar with Morrigan preferred to know where her son was. 

With a sigh she left the food and her rooms to go looking for her son.


	3. The Ambassador

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josephine meets Kieran and finds out that there is more to the child than most realize.

With a flourish, brought on by exhaustion and a sense of giddiness at having finished the day’s work, Josephine pressed the Inquisition seal into the still hot wax of the final document that needed approval for the day. She set it aside to dry, organizing the piles of papers into what could be sent out to the relevant parties, and which items needed the Inquisitor’s approval while the wax cooled. The second pile was considerably smaller, considering Maxwell’s dislike of paperwork. But even his frequent forays into the field did not allow him to escape the inevitable paperwork that a large organization such as the Inquisition generated. 

Once the papers had been sorted and handed to the proper messengers, Josephine sat back in her chair, pinching the bridge of her nose against the migraine that was forming. They were becoming more frequent, especially with the growing Inquisition, and then there was the matter of the House of Repose and the contract on her life…

“Are you well my lady?” Marianne, one of Josephine’s aides, asked. 

“Just a headache,” Josephine said. “It will pass.”

“Perhaps some tea then?” Marianne suggested. “For the headache?”

“No thats…” Josephine reconsidered. “Actually, yes, that sounds lovely.”

Once Marianne had left Josephine found herself faced with some increasingly rare leisure time. She considered reviewing the documents meant for Maxwell, perhaps there were some that she could handle herself, she did not want to overburden him with trivial matters. As she reached for the small pile her eyes fell on the drawer on the right hand side of her desk. Perhaps… No, she should review those documents. But, then again, she had been working hard all week, and her migraine would not let her focus.

She glanced around surreptitiously, nobody was in her office, the doors were closed, and the tea would still be a while. With a secret smile, Josephine opened the drawer, wherein lay one of her favorite dolls. No one, not even Leliana—she hoped—knew she kept this here. Just as she was about to pull out Antoinette, the door opened. Josephine slammed the drawer shut, careful not to damage Antoinette. 

That was quick, Josephine looked up, expecting Marianne. Instead she saw a young boy, no more than ten years old from the looks of him, standing in the doorway. His brown eyes glanced around the room, taking in the details before focusing on Josephine. He cocked his head to the side.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello,” Josephine, still flustered from almost having been caught with her dolls out, cleared her throat. “Can I help you?”

The boy shook his head. “I’m just looking.”

Josephine blinked. “I see. Do your parents know you are here?” 

“No,” the boy said. He stepped further into the room. 

“Where are your parents?” There was something odd about the boy, the way he was looking at her, as if she had his full attention, and yet something about his eyes suggested that he was not quite focused on what was in front of him.

“Father is away,” the boy said. “He’s traveling in the west, looking for a cure to the Calling.”

“The Calling?” Josephine noticed for the first time the amulet on the boy’s chest. It was silver, and displayed two griffins rampant. “That amulet, it is the grey warden symbol is it not? Is your father a Grey Warden?”

The boy nodded again.

“How about your mother? Who is she?”

The boy smiled, a charming expression that still could not hide the fact that his gaze seemed to see more than what was before him. “She’s the witch of the wilds!”

Josephine frowned. “The Witch of the… Oh, Lady Morrigan?” The boy nodded. “You are…I did not realize Lady Morrigan had a son.”

“Mother doesn’t like telling people who I am, she says it’s dangerous for them to know.”

“What is your name?” 

“Kieran,” he said. 

“Well, Kieran,” Josephine said, falling back on her habitual manners after recovering from being taken aback. “I am Josephine, if you need anything, let me know.”

“Thank you.” 

The two stared at each other, Kieran with a vague smile and Josephine with a light frown, desperately trying to think of something to say. Fortunately for her, Marianne arrived with the tea. Josephine noticed the Orlesian girl had included a plate of cookies. A thought occurred to her. 

“Would you like some cookies, and perhaps some milk?” She asked Kieran.

“Yes please!” Strange smile aside, Josephine supposed all little boys had the same sweet tooth she had so often used to bribe her younger brother with.

Marianne left and returned with another cup, a pitcher of milk, and—wisely, Josephine thought—more cookies. 

“You’re Antivan,” Kieran said, as they sat with their drinks and cookies. 

“I am,” Josephine said. “Have you ever been to Antiva?”

Kieran shook his head. “I’ve only ever lived in the Crossroads, and Orlais. I’ve visited Ferelden with Father and Mother. Father said my cousin was half Antivan.”

“Was?” Josephine asked. “What happened?”

“He died,” Kieran said with a chilling lack of emotion. “Before I was born. Sometimes when I dream, in the fade, spirits try to pretend to be him, to give messages for Father. I don’t know why they try, they’re obviously spirits.”

“Spirits…talk to you?” Josephine asked. “You…are a mage then?” She had always felt that mages deserved all the freedoms enjoyed by others. But meeting a young, possibly untrained, child mage had her more than a little wary. 

“I am,” Kieran said, he looked at her sideways. “You’re afraid.”

“What,” Josephine laughed. “No I am…”

“You shouldn’t be afraid of magic,” Kieran said. “It’s not so scary as people think. And spirits are not so dangerous, as long as you’re careful. Demons are scary, but they can be beaten, as long as you don’t listen to them. That’s what Mother taught me.”

“Your mother has been teaching you magic?” 

Before Kieran could answer, the door from the main hall opened, revealing Lady Morrigan. The new arcane advisor to the Inquisition glanced around the room, before her eyes fell upon her son. 

“There you are little man,” Morrigan said. “I’ve told you not to wander off.”

“I wanted to explore the castle,” Kieran said, standing up. 

“Then tell me when you go,” Morrigan said, sighing the sigh of all mothers. “And you’ve gone and ruined your appetite.”

Josephine stood up. “Lady Morrigan, I apologize, I didn’t realize…”

Morrigan held up her hand, shaking her head. “Tis not your fault,” she said. “This one,” she placed a hand on Kieran’s head, squeezing. Kieran giggled. “Should know better. But, he never could resist something sweet.”

“Well,” Josephine said. “My little brother was a lot like that.”

Morrigan laughed. “I can think of at least one, who remains a boy at heart despite it all, who never could resist sweet things either.” She smiled fondly at her son. “This one and he have that very much in common.” 

As Josephine was wondering if she should offer Morrigan some tea, the other woman turned her gaze towards her. Where Kieran’s expression had been vague yet oddly penetrating, Morrigan’s gaze actively drilled through any concealing layers one might have built. Her golden eyes glanced across Josephine, settling on her eyes. Josephine could not resist a nervous glance towards the drawer of her desk, which she noticed had not entirely closed. Something must have gotten stuck. 

“Thank you,” Morrigan finally said, her eyes darting to the drawer and back to Josephine. “While cookies were not what he needed right now, had you not kept him here I would be looking for him the rest of the day. There are many undiscovered places in this castle, places where a young boy could easily and happily hide away in.”

“You are welcome,” Josephine said. “Though to tell the truth I think the Inquisitor himself could show Kieran a few of those hiding places. They are useful for avoiding paperwork.”

Morrigan laughed again, it was a polite laugh, with genuine amusement behind it, but guarded, not a true laugh. The Orlesian court had clearly taught this woman how to guard her emotions.

“Come,” Morrigan said to Kieran. “Our lunch has gotten cold by now. You can explore later, after you eat and complete your studies.”

Kieran sighed. “Must I?”

“You must,” Morrigan said.

Mother and son left Josephine’s office. Josephine glanced down at the tea tray, noticing that several cookies that had been there before Morrigan had entered had seemingly disappeared from the tray. 

All little boys like sweet things, she thought, and laughed. 

—

Early in the morning, several days later, the advisors gathered at the War Table. Maxwell was the last to arrive, coming in from the door leading to the gardens. 

“Inquisitor,” Josephine greeted him, handing him a cup of strong black tea from the tray that had been brought in earlier by one of the servants. Josephine picked up her own cup and took a sip.

“Thank you,” Maxwell gulped down his tea with an expression that was an odd mixture of a grimace and a smile. Josephine could not for the life of her understand how he could possibly enjoy drinking his tea with no milk or sugar. 

“Well then,” Cullen said. “We have a couple reports to go over.”

“Right,” Maxwell said. “And once we are through with those, I have a couple items that need addressing.”

They went over the collected reports, and Maxwell assigned forces to deal with the most pressing concerns across Orlais and Ferelden. Finally, once everything had been settled, and Josephine was organizing the reports for later filling, Maxwell mentioned that there was one more item.

“I was talking to Lady Morrigan earlier,” Maxwell said. “She’s told me that she has a way of contacting the Hero of Ferelden.”

Leliana looked up from the report she had been focused on. “She knows where he is?”

Maxwell nodded. “She told me he is in the west, searching for a cure to the Calling.”

“That would explain why he hasn’t responded to my letters,” Leliana sighed. “He might have mentioned that before leaving.”

Something from the other day tickled at Josephine’s memory. “Wait…Lady Morrigan’s son, Kieran, yesterday he said that his father was searching for a cure to the Calling. Do you mean…”

Leliana nodded. “Yes, Aedan Cousland—the Hero of Ferelden—is Kieran’s father. Not many know it, but he and Morrigan were…involved during the Blight.”

Josephine noticed the grimace on Leliana’s face when she said that. She decided not to mention it. Unfortunately Cullen was not nearly as tactful.

“You look displeased about that,” he said. “A sore topic I take it?”

“Not for the reason you think,” Leliana said, chuckling. “Let us just say that those two made it very difficult for anyone in camp to get any sleep.”

“How would they…” Cullen began to say, but when Leliana arched her eyebrow at him he paused. “Oh,” he said, finally getting it.

“And I take it,” Josephine said, fighting the blush that was forming on her cheeks. Though she would not have minded a few details of what Leliana was referring to. “That they are still together, if she knows where he is?”

“Oh yes,” Leliana said. “I suppose so. She left him after the Blight, but he went looking for her right before he disappeared for the first time. I suppose he did find her, and—according to her—married her. She must have changed, because the Morrigan I remember never would have permitted him to remain with her once she had decided to end it, let alone agree to be wed to him. I suppose having a child really does change a woman. Even one like Morrigan.”

“What do you mean?” Maxwell said. “She seems perfectly pleasant to me. A bit snarky maybe.”

Leliana laughed again. “You should have met her ten years ago. When she wasn’t deliberately insulting me, Alistair, or Wynne…or anyone in our group really—she only seemed to get along with Aedan, Zevran, and Sten—then she was actively advocating that we leave innocents to suffer death and worse if saving them did not directly further our goals.”

Maxwell frowned. “It seems odd that the Hero of Ferelden would become…involved with someone like that.”

“You have seen what she wears, right?” Leliana said. “Aedan is a good man, but he is still a man. Morrigan was very good at pressing certain…buttons with him. But, Aedan must have seen something in her that nobody else could see, because he not only took her to his bed, but he risked his life and left everything behind for her.” She shook her head. “But, I suppose seeing her as she is now, I can understand a little bit of what he may have seen in her.”

Cullen scoffed. “She was still very rude to me earlier when I asked her about that large delivery that arrived the other day.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Leliana said. “She just really hates Templars, even former Templars. Especially if they are blonde for some reason.”

Something that had been bugging Josephine during the whole conversation finally manifested itself properly in her mind. “Wait…” She said. “So the Hero of Ferelden. He is Aedan Cousland, son of Teyrn Bryce Cousland and younger brother of Teyrn Fergus Cousland. And Kieran is his son, you are certain of this?”

Leliana nodded. “Yes. The boy reminds me of his father in looks and mannerisms.”

Josephine sighed. “So we have a son of one of the oldest noble families of Ferelden here in Skyhold, and I had no idea!”

“I suppose so,” Leliana said. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Morrigan doesn’t seem to want to flaunt the boy’s lineage, nor do I think she truly cares. So I see no reason to make a big deal of it.” 

“But,” Josephine was becoming agitated. There were certain protocols to follow when high ranking nobility visited, and despite all impressions, the boy was a Cousland, as was his mother by marriage according to what Leliana had just revealed. “Teyrn Cousland doesn’t have any children. That means his nephew is his heir. We have the possible heir to the Teyrnir of Highever here and I did not realize!”

The others seemed to consider that. “No,” Leliana said. “I don’t think he is. The boy is a mage. He isn’t eligible to inherit a noble position.”

“I thought Ferelden was becoming more liberal about those laws,” Maxwell said. “And considering their current King is the bastard son of King Maric, and also happens to have been a Grey Warden at the time he took the throne, wouldn’t they be flexible about who can inherit such a crucial position as a Teyrnir? They hold a lot of stock by blood after all. And if the only remaining heir to a family as old as the Couslands happens to be a mage, then I could see them adjusting the law as needed.”

They all considered that as well. “I think,” Leliana finally said. “Nothing we said here needs to be brought up to anyone outside this room. But maybe have some agents keep an eye open for Kieran so nothing happens to him.”

“Agreed,” Maxwell said. 

—

Josephine was at her desk, working on a lead to deal with the House of Repose’s contract, when Morrigan came into her office. 

“I have need of some materials for my research,” Morrigan said, holding a piece of paper that held what looked to be a list that ran from the front page to the back page. “And I do not know who the quartermaster is.”

Josephine stood up. “Of course, I would be glad to pass your list along, Lady Cousland.” Josephine froze, cursing the slip of her tongue. “I mean, Lady Morrigan.”

Eyebrow cocked, Morrigan regarded the flustered Josephine with cool amusement. “I see that Leliana is as good at keeping secrets as ever.”

“I am so sorry,” Josephine said. “After you told the Inquisitor how to find the Hero of Ferelden Leliana explained your relationship to him, and I was thinking about it, and…”

Morrigan waved Josephine’s ramblings aside. “Never mind. I care not what you call me. Though,” she chuckled. “This is the first time anyone other than he has called me by that name. And he only ever says it because he knows it annoys me. It hardly feels like a deserved name for me to take.”

“But you married him,” Josephine said. “Legally…”

“I care not for such laws,” Morrigan said. “I simply agreed to marry him because he would not stop pestering me about performing the absurd ceremony. All it means to me is that we are bound together, for good or ill. Anything else it may imply is of no consequence to me.”

“But if the wrong people were to find out? They could endanger your son.”

“They may try,” Morrigan said. “But we are no longer in Orlais, I have no need to hold back my fury should any fool attempt to harm my son.”

There was a dark glint in Morrigan’s eye that Josephine thought she could see a little bit of what Leliana was talking about. This was a woman who was not afraid of using her own power to harm others. To think that such a woman was a mother… Josephine could not help but shudder as she tried to avoid thinking what would befall any hapless assassin.


	4. The Seeker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra shows Kieran a few tricks with the sword.

Cassandra’s blow shattered the training dummy and the wooden training sword. She scoffed and tossed the now blade-less wooden hilt aside. The Inquisition’s equipment was getting shoddy, or—she supposed—it could very well be that after relinquishing her authority in the Inquisition she had little else to do outside of training and going on missions with Maxwell and his small group of specialists. 

He always seemed to take her along when out in the field. He insisted it was because he knew bringing her along was the only way any of them ever made it back to Skyhold alive. This was of course true, more often than not the final blow was hers, and on one occasion she had been forced to lug the unconscious bodies of her friends back to camp.

Recently, however, she had been suspecting the Inquisitor of having ulterior motives. It began after he convinced Varric to write the latest chapter of Swords and Shields just for her. At first she thought nothing of it, but after the fifth time rereading the book, she began to wonder why he would do something like that for her. True, he seemed to be amused by her enthusiasm for Varric’s series, but he had made a grand total of one joke about it and then left her to her book. 

And then there were the compliments, constantly, at every possible opportunity. He seemed to have fun with her reactions, and yet… He had said that he liked her determination. Strange, most men she had ever met tended to prefer more…subdued women. Women that would follow their lead, supportive women. Cassandra could never see herself as the kind of woman to give her whole being to wholeheartedly supporting a man, even one as impressive as Maxwell. She would do what was right, even if it meant going against someone she loved. She could not expect any man to accept that in a woman, nor did she intend to. If Maxwell truly was…interested in her, then she would have to dissuade him. A man in his position needed a woman that could support him in all ways, not just on the battlefield. 

As Cassandra turned to pick up a new sword, she noticed a small boy standing by the training equipment. He was looking over the weapons for some time, before finally picking one. It was far too large for him. In fact, Cassandra was certain there were no practice weapons suitable for children.

When he grabbed the sword, the boy bumped against its neighbor, and with a loud rattle the entire rack fell over. The boy jumped back, looking around with wide eyes. 

“Careful!” Cassandra cried. “Those aren’t for playing with.”

He jumped again, obviously not aware that Cassandra was there. “Sorry,” he said. “I was just looking.”

Cassandra examined the boy, he was young, barely ten years old if she wasn’t mistaken. Something about him seemed familiar. There were not many children in Skyhold, sometimes visitors would bring their families, maybe a few refugees. Then it clicked. 

“You’re Kieran, right? Lady Morrigan’s son?” Cassandra asked.

Kieran nodded. 

“I wouldn’t think a mage would be open to her son practicing swordsmanship,” Cassandra said. “Do you have a teacher?”

Kieran shook his head. “Not right now,” he said. “Father was teaching me a little, but he had to leave before I as old enough to really start training. I’ve been practicing every day, so I can show him how good I’ve become when he comes home. Mother…she thinks it’s a waste of time.”

Cassandra smiled. It reminded her of herself and Anthony, he was always the one she would look up to, so she would practice every day to try and impress him. He would always beat her in their practice matches, but always he was encouraging. 

“Come,” Cassandra said, picking up two wooden swords. One for herself, and a smaller one she thought might suit Kieran. It was still quite large, but if he held it in two hands it was about the size of a great-sword for him. “Maybe I can teach you something new, that would impress him even more.” She proffered the handle of the sword to Kieran, who hesitated, but then gripped the handle. 

“Show me your basic stance,” Cassandra said. Kieran held the sword in front of him, he had good form, the tip of his sword remained pointed at Cassandra’s head. “Good. Do you know the fundamental guards and cuts?” Kieran nodded. “Show me.”

Kieran went through the basic routine, exhibiting all the basic guards, along with all the basic cuts. They lacked force and conviction, but his form was almost perfect. He had been well taught, especially for someone so young. 

“Very good,” Cassandra said. “Your father taught you well. Did he teach you anything else?”

“No,” Kieran shook his head, lowering his sword from the high guard he had finished on. “He taught me the basics, and told me to practice them every day while he was gone. He said, ‘master the basics before getting creative’. I wish he had shown me more, it gets boring practicing the same thing over and over.” 

Cassandra nodded. “He’s right though. The basics will save your life.” Kieran sighed. Cassandra chuckled, she could remember when she had been as impatient as him, though she had been somewhat older at the time she started training. “But perhaps what you need is someone to spar against.” 

Cassandra held out her sword. “High,” she said, and swung. She swung with a fraction of her strength, and Kieran blocked it perfectly, his blade angled to redirect her blade downward and away from him, but she could still feel his sword give way to her own blade. He’s light, I could knock him over easily. “Do you know what to do from here?”

He frowned, unsure.

“Here,” Cassandra said. “Hit me as I hit you.” Kieran swung his sword, with what appeared to be all the force and enthusiasm he could muster, Cassandra blocked it just as he had, and barely felt the pressure against her blade. “From here,” she snapped her own blade in an arc past her head, Kieran’s blade slipped to the ground while her own alighted gently on the crook of his neck. “You are completely vulnerable.” She stepped back and took the same guard as before. “Again.”

Kieran struck again, Cassandra blocked, this time instead of cutting she brought the pommel of her sword down between his hands, breaking his guard, her blade positioned for a draw cut against his neck. It was awkward adjusting to the difference in height, but Cassandra had fought dwarves, and Kieran was about the right height for one of them, if significantly lighter.

“This one,” Cassandra said. “Isn’t as good against armor, but you’ll break your opponents grip on their weapon. Again.”

By now Kieran was grinning at the new information he was receiving. He struck again, Cassandra blocked as before, wedging her pommel between his hands to break his grip. Except this time she twisted and removed the sword from Kieran’s hands, tossing it away behind her. The boy blinked, and frowned, clearly trying to figure out what had just happened. 

“Sometimes you don’t want to harm your opponent,” she said. “This is a good way to disarm them.” 

“Let me try!” Kieran said, rushing over to pick up his fallen weapon. He stood at the ready, and Cassandra struck, putting a bit of weight in it, but not enough to break Kieran’s guard. Just enough to let him know she was testing his guard. It held. Kieran struck, but missed as Cassandra took a single step to get out of range. “Hey!” 

“What?” Cassandra laughed. “I don’t have to let you hit me.”

“But how did you…?”

“Looks like we need to work on your footwork,” Cassandra said, tossing her blade aside. “Come.”

They went over the basic footwork, how to maneuver into position to strike, and how to escape an opponents range. After a while they attracted some attention, as Blackwall, Iron Bull, and Maxwell came over to the practice field, offering some pointers of their own. 

Afterwards, as Kieran sat panting on the grass, Blackwall and Iron Bull wandered off, though Maxwell remained. 

“Not bad,” Maxwell commented. “Though, I thought your mother was training you in magic, so why the swords?”

Cassandra frowned. She knew that Morrigan was an apostate, but had not gathered that her son was a mage as well. He had his moments where he would look at you, as if he knew more than he should. But other than that she only saw a regular little boy. She could not help but think about how many other children like him had been torn from their families, sometimes even cast out for fear of their powers. Not for the first time she wondered whether the mage-templar war could have been avoided had there been a different way of protecting people from magic that did not involve traumatizing young children by tearing them from their homes.

“I wanted to learn what Father knew,” Kieran said. He turned his attention to Cassandra. “Who taught you how to fight?”

She hesitated, but then decided there was no harm in telling. “My brother, Anthony. He was a dragon hunter, and I wanted to be like him. I pestered him into training me. He would show me a little, I would practice, and then I would show him I could do it and he would train me some more.”

Kieran started picking at the grass, pulling out the blades and letting them fall on to his knee. “I wish I had a little brother or sister, then I could teach them what I know. But every time I ask mother if they are having another baby, she says ‘No!’ I ask father and he says ‘Most likely.’ Then mother throws a book at his head.”

Maxwell laughed. “It’s not true love unless you get a few books thrown at your head is it?”

“Father says that all the time,” Kieran cocked his head, looking at Maxwell curiously. “Then mother gets annoyed with him.”

Kieran’s stomach growled. Cassandra herself noticed that she was hungry, the sun had started to set and she had not noticed it. The boy stood up. “I’d better go back. Thank you for the training,” he smiled at Cassandra.

“You’re welcome,” she smiled back. She and Maxwell remained seated in the grass while Kieran scampered off. 

“You know,” Maxwell said after a bit of companionable silence. “You’re quite good with children.”

“You’ve seen me with one child,” Cassandra said. “That hardly counts.”

“I don’t know,” Maxwell said. “I think it counts. You know, you’d make a good mother.”

“I…what?” Cassandra sputtered. 

“I don’t mean anything by it,” Maxwell said, holding his hands up defensively. “It’s just you have an air about you, kind but authoritarian.”

“Well,” Cassandra couldn’t stop stammering. “That’s hardly appropriate!”

“You’re right,” Maxwell said. “I shouldn’t have said it. But it’s still true.”

“It most certainly is not!” Cassandra said. 

“Sorry,” Maxwell said, but the grin on his face told Cassandra he was most certainly not sorry. “Get you dinner as an apology?”

“I can get my own dinner,” Cassandra said stiffly. 

“I know,” Maxwell said. “But I would really like your company for dinner.”

“Maxwell,” Cassandra started to say. She took a deep breath. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, about…”

“Ah?” Maxwell looked apprehensive, and a little bit hopeful. Cassandra almost didn’t want to continue. But it was necessary.

“The flirting,” Cassandra said, centering her thoughts. “With me. I’ve…noticed it. Unless it is my imagination, which is entirely possible.”

“I was hoping you would notice it,” Maxwell said. 

“You cannot court me!” Cassandra said. She had hoped it was just her imagination. This conversation, it required her to address feelings she knew they had no time for. Perhaps she was misunderstanding. “If that is your intention. It’s impossible!”

“And why is it impossible, exactly?” Maxwell said.

“That,” Cassandra said. “Should be obvious.”

“Well it isn’t obvious to me.”

“You intend to properly court me?” Cassandra said. A timid hope rose in her chest, before being dashed against the bitter walls of duty she had built around it. “You of all people?” She stood up, agitated. This was impossible. Surely he would deny her, tell her they had too much to deal with to even consider a romantic entanglement. 

“Is that what you want?” Maxwell asked, remaining seated so he had to look up at her.

“No.” Cassandra turned around. Relieved that he had provided her with a way to stop this foolishness before it grew into a problem. She walked away.

Then she made the mistake of looking back. Maxwell remained seated, looking at the ground. He looked so forlorn that before she knew what she was doing, Cassandra had turned around and was walking back to him. He looked up as she approached.

“I take it back,” Cassandra said, kneeling down beside him. “That is what I want. I want a man who…sweeps me off my feet, who gives me flowers and reads me poetry by candlelight. I want the ideal.”

She did not know why she was telling him this. She had no intention of allowing him to court her, and yet a small part of her hoped that he would listen to her words and take them as a challenge. 

“You are the Inquisitor,” she continued. “And the Herald of Andraste. You cannot be that man.”

“I can,” Maxwell said. “If I want to. If you want me to.”

Cassandra shook her head. “The world hinges on our actions, we face death at every turn, Inquisitor. Neither of us have time for any distractions.”

“That doesn’t change how I feel,” Maxwell said, and Cassandra could see the sincerity in his eyes.

“It changes everything,” Cassandra said, and stood up to walk away without looking back this time. 

—-

The next day Cassandra was reading Swords and Shields for the ninth time. Varric said it still needed editing, but to her it was perfect. In fact she hoped he didn’t make any changes. It was still early, so she did not expect the shadow that fell over her book. She quickly put it away, trying not to make as much of a scene this time. It hardly mattered, thanks to Varric everyone in Skyhold knew about her hobby.

She was surprised to see Morrigan standing above her. “Can I help you?” Cassandra asked as she stood up, holding her book behind her back nonchalantly. 

Morrigan’s gaze would have made Cassandra uncomfortable, were she not so confident in her own seeker abilities. Here stood a woman, an apostate who had been flagrantly living outside the chantry’s authority for years before the mage rebellion. She was no apostate by technicality, she was a true apostate. And yet, here she stood, not an abomination, nor a bloodmage despite rumors to the contrary. And she had helped end the Blight, and was, according to reports one of the only people the Hero of Ferelden truly trusted, and the woman he loved. 

Cassandra remembered the stories she had researched while searching for the Hero of Ferelden’s whereabouts. Prominently featured in those tales was the witch he had left everything behind to chase after. All the tales painted him as a dutiful man who sacrificed everything to save his country, and yet in the end he left it all behind for this woman. Why? Cassandra had found the story to be strangely romantic. The hero giving everything up to be with the woman he loved. It sounded like something Varric would have written.

Only he could never have written a character like the woman that stood before Cassandra now. In most tales the love interest was always painted with the same brush. She may have some different characteristics, but she was always kind, and gentle. She was not Morrigan. Nor, was she Cassandra. 

So how was it that a woman like Morrigan could catch the eye of a man who selflessly gave of himself to save the world. Cassandra had always wanted to know, and yet now that she stood before one that could tell her, she could not find the words to ask the question.

“I understand you were helping my son practice the sword yesterday,” Morrigan said, shaking Cassandra out of her thoughts.

“What?” Cassandra said. “Oh yes. He came down to practice. I thought he could use some guidance.”

Morrigan looked at her with that look that wasn’t quite a frown. “I would ask you to discourage him from this. I tell him his studies are more important but he does not listen.”

“He said his father had taught him?” Cassandra frowned. Kieran had shown great enthusiasm yesterday, and she would be reluctant to discourage him. But this was his mother, it was not Cassandra’s place to refuse her.

Morrigan sighed. “Yes they both persist in that foolishness. Nonetheless, Kieran must focus on his studies, not playing at waving toy swords around.” She turned to leave and started walking away.

“Wait,” Cassandra called.

“Yes?” Morrigan turned to look at Cassandra, who for the life of her couldn’t decide what had made her call the woman back.

“I,” Cassandra decided to go for it. “Was wondering, about the Hero of Ferelden, and yourself.”

“That,” Morrigan said. “Is personal.”

“I know,” Cassandra said. “But I’ve read so many accounts of the blight, of him, and you. They say you were in love with each other, but you left, why?”

Morrigan hesitated, looking somewhat annoyed. Then an amused smirk quirked her lips. “They speak of things they do not understand,” she said. “It was…complicated.”

“And yet he disappeared, according to the Inquisitor you told him he left with you. If you left him, why would you then later let him follow you?”

“I,” Morrigan said. “Had…opinions on love at the time. As far as I was concerned love was a weakness, and everything he and I felt for each other only proved this true. He and I, we had different destinies, leaving him was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. But I did, therefore proving that I was stronger than foolish notions such as love.”

“How could you think of love as weakness?” Cassandra said. In her heart she knew love was a wonderful thing, had been in love for a brief time, but she knew from experience that it wasn’t for a woman such as herself.

“My mother,” Morrigan said. “Taught me many things. Some that I value to this day, others I have come to learn may have not been quite so true as I once thought. After I left, despite all I had to accomplish, I could not stop thinking of him. I thought the pain would lessen as pain always does. And no matter how much time passed it never went away, it only grew stronger. We had a…connection, a ring that allowed me to sense his location and sometimes his emotions. I could feel anger, bitterness, but mostly loneliness, and yet he never took off the ring, despite that it must be a constant reminder of what I had done to him.” 

Her fingers playing with the ring on her left hand, Morrigan continued. “By the time I gave birth to Kieran, I had time to think about what love truly was. And holding my son in my arms for the first time changed everything. Here I was, with a helpless little thing, were I to leave him he would surely die. He was completely helpless, something I had always thought to be the greatest sin. And yet I knew that I would do anything for my child, it gave me no benefit to raise him, to protect him, and yet at that moment if all the Templars of the Chantry had come to take him from me, I would have gladly given my life just to keep him safe. Imagine what that must be like, for someone raised from birth to care only for power and survival. What purpose was there in the love I had for my son? And yet, I could not call it anything else. All I knew of love was the foolishness of Leliana’s songs. Once I had my son, I knew that there was more to love than I had thought. 

“And when Aedan found me, still wearing the ring despite everything, I knew in my heart I wanted to be with him. I still believed it would be better for him to stay, and hoped that I could convince myself I would be better alone. But after all I had put him through, he was willing to leave everything for me. I could not find it in myself to deny him, or to deny what I felt. Though, I am curious, what brings on the sudden interest? Could it have something to do with your rumored dalliance with the Inquisitor?”

Cassandra sputtered. “Dalliance? I have no idea what you mean!”

Morrigan laughed. “Of course not. And I am of course imagining the obvious repeat of my little misadventure all those years ago.”

“I…” Cassandra flushed. 

“I would recommend,” Morrigan said, with an oddly kind smile. “If you would allow me. That you do not make the mistake of pushing away such an attachment, if it is what you want. There is value in having an equal partner. From what little I have spoken to him, I can see that the Inquisitor is a good man. He reminds me of my Warden, just a little bit. More religious than he, but your Inquisitor has the qualities that make my Aedan a great man. And there are few better places to be in this world than at the side of a great man. Speaking from some experience, you might find yourself pleasantly surprised, if you allow it.”

“I,” Cassandra said. “Thank you. I…have no more questions.”

“Very well,” Morrigan said. “If you are ever in need of any,” she snickered, “love advice, feel free to ask me. Don’t ask Leliana. She will fill your head with foolish notions of poetry and flowers.”

Cassandra watched her leave. For a woman that seemed to value her secrecy and privacy, it did not take much to get her talking about her Love. Such was the power of love apparently. As for herself, Cassandra considered Morrigan’s words. She supposed there was some truth in them, and if a woman whose love had blossomed, despite her best efforts, in the middle of a blight thought the pursuit of such a love was worth it, then perhaps Cassandra herself could reconsider Maxwell’s advances. 

As long as he knew how to properly court her, of course.


	5. The Hero's Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aedan's letter finally arrives. Unfortunately the most salacious section of his letter do Morrigan gets...misplaced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an idea I’ve had for a while, and I figure it fits here best. I’ve always wondered what exactly was in the HoF’s letter to Morrigan. It must have been pretty dirty for her to tease the contents like she did.

Chapter 5 - The Hero’s Letter

There were two packages waiting on Leliana’s table when she arrived in her rookery. She noted that one was addressed to Maxwell, while the other, in identical handwriting, was addressed to Morrigan and Kieran. 

With a rush of excitement Leliana pulled open the package addressed to Maxwell. There was a belt inside, she set it aside to deliver it later, and a letter. She opened the letter, scanning the contents. She was mildly disappointed when there was nothing in the letter for her. It was purely business, along with a veiled threat Aedan had included in regards to the safety of his family.

His family. 

Ten years had passed. Leliana had lost herself in her work, but there were many times that she still wondered about what could have been, were it not for Morrigan. She glanced at the package addressed to Morrigan. It was somewhat larger than the one for the Inquisitor. Undoubtedly there would be another letter in there. Not one for her, but she was sorely tempted to look anyway. If nothing else just to be able to see her friend’s writing again.

She desisted, instead gathering up both packages. There was a council meeting scheduled for later in the day, but first she could deliver Morrigan’s package. 

Leliana found Morrigan and Kieran in the garden. Both mother and son were sitting on—or laying next to in Kieran’s case, enjoying the morning sun—a bench reading. They were both holding heavy tomes, Kieran would look up at Morrigan and ask a question. What the two were reading Leliana could not, nor did she want to, begin to guess. She cleared her throat as she approached them.

Kieran looked up at her and smiled. Leliana felt a dull pang of regret in her heart. He looks so much like his father. How a sweet child like that could have ever come from Morrigan, Leliana supposed she would never know. Perhaps it was Aedan’s influence, or perhaps it showed how much of an effect Flemeth’s upbringing had on Morrigan. The woman herself had certainly become far more tolerable in the past ten years that Leliana could possibly believe that she would have been quite an agreeable person had she been raised by loving parents instead.

Still, as she looked at Kieran, Leliana could not help but wonder what her own child would look like. Would there be more of her, or more of Aedan in it? She had a brief flash in her mind of a young girl, bright red hair done up in braids, with hauntingly familiar blue eyes.

“Good morning, Leliana,” Morrigan said. She certainly sounded pleasant, that in itself was a surprise, if only because Leliana distinctly remembered Morrigan was always at her grumpiest in the mornings.

“Good morning,” Leliana said. “A package arrived, addressed to you.” She handed the parcel to Morrigan, whose eyes lit up when she saw the handwriting on the parcel.

“Still sealed,” Morrigan said. “How very thoughtful.”

“Is it from Father?” Kieran asked. 

“Tis,” Morrigan said as she opened the parcel. There were two letters on top of the contents of the package, one addressed to Morrigan, and one to Kieran. Morrigan took the letters and set the rest of the contents aside. She handed the smaller of the two to her son, who laid back down on the grass to read.

Leliana looked at Morrigan as the latter read her letter. She knew that Morrigan would want her privacy, but something about her expression fascinated Leliana, to the point that she found herself unwilling to leave. She was smiling, that alone in itself was rare enough, but it wasn’t Morrigan’s usual smirk. It was a tender, fragile smile, one that Leliana was more accustomed to seeing on the faces of much younger women. Girls that were experiencing love for the first time, happy yet unsure of what to make of the unfamiliar fluttering in their chest. Leliana did not often see such a smile on women closer to her age, nor had she ever expected to see it on Morrigan’s face. Morrigan, who had cruelly and definitively shot down any suggestion that what she felt for Aedan was anything other than respect mingled with lust. 

Maker’s breath, Leliana thought. She actually loves him.

Despite everything, Morrigan’s own words, Aedan’s letters, the fact that the two had been together for nigh unto ten years. Despite all this Leliana had never been able to wrap her mind around the concept that Morrigan truly loved him, possibly more than Leliana had ever cared for the Warden.

A light blush dusted Morrigan’s cheeks, catching Leliana completely off guard. Morrigan looked up, the soft look in her eyes visible only for a second before Morrigan’s usual smirk hid any evidence of her actual feelings. 

“A shame you left this unopened,” she said as she set the letter aside. “It would have been most…informative for you.”

“Oh,” Leliana said. “It has been informative enough.” 

Morrigan frowned. She looked about to speak, but before she could Kieran was at her side, thrusting his letter into her hands. “Look!” The boy said. “It says here that Father wants me to keep practicing the sword, can I Mother?”

With a sigh, Morrigan rolled her eyes and nodded. Kieran left his letter with Morrigan and ran off. “But be back for your studies!” Morrigan set her son’s letter atop her own. She gestured to Leliana to sit. Leliana did so, placing the Inquisitor’s parcel and letter between them, atop Aedan’s other letters. 

Uncertain what Morrigan wanted, Leliana and her sat in silence. Finally…

“So much has changed,” Morrigan said. When Leliana looked at her in confusion. “From ten years ago I mean. The world once again stands at the brink of destruction, a hero arises to fight evil. And yet this time he is significantly better supported.”

Leliana laughed. “Aedan would have killed to have a force like the Inquisition during the Blight.” 

“He did in some cases,” Morrigan chuckled. Leliana, with her new outlook on the world found herself appreciating the joke more than she ever could have ten years ago.

It felt strange to be talking to Morrigan like this. In the past she had tried to be friendly, but Morrigan had made sure nothing ever came of that. It was unlike Morrigan to talk for the sake of talking.

“Are you…trying to make small talk?” Leliana asked. She glanced over at Morrigan who looked away, lightly flushed in embarrassment.

“I…have learned, in my time away from the wilds, that there is no harm in conversation for conversation’s sake. Aedan, he would constantly find things to talk about, despite there being no need for conversation. I…enjoyed this. He cares for you, as a friend. You and I, we have caused him much grief with our animosity in the past. Much of this was my fault. I had little tolerance for fools when I was younger. And I saw you as the biggest fool, with your vision, your faith in a god that had decreed that my kind were to be locked away. I know you tried to be pleasant at first, but I never could trust that you would not betray me to the Templars. I was unkind. I would like to put that behind us.”

“You’re,” Leliana could hardly believe her ears. “Apologizing?”

“Absolutely not,” Morrigan said. “But there is little sense in continuing a pointless feud. And if nothing else I have no desire to cause Aedan any more grief. He would like to see us make peace.”

“I,” Leliana paused. Morrigan had been an absolute, cruel bitch. She had a talent for finding that one thing that would cause the most pain and digging at it every chance she saw. Aedan had often tried to explain to her how much of this was Flemeth’s influence. He clearly saw something in the woman that Leliana herself could never see. But the fact that Morrigan, who had once taunted Leliana for her crush on Aedan, was willing to apologize—despite what she claimed—suggested that perhaps Aedan had known what he was talking about.

She took a deep breath. “I can understand why you would be suspicious of me,” Leliana said. “The chantry has not been kind in its dealings with mages. The rebellion has made that much clear. I have thought about the situation for some time. I did not realize at the time, but I think I am beginning to understand that the circles were not the refuge I thought them. After knowing you, I can see how a person would value their freedom more than safety, and why you would hate the chantry so much.”

Morrigan shrugged. “I do not hate the chantry. I think its followers are fools, and the chantry certainly has many sins in its past. But there is some value in the kind of faith it inspires. You, Seeker Pentaghast, the followers of the Inquisition. This kind of fervor could do great things in this world, if only it could be productively channeled.”

They fell into an oddly comfortable silence after that, the two of them enjoying the morning sun. 

“So,” Leliana said. “About the dress…”

Morrigan groaned. “I did not realize until afterwards that it resembled the one you had suggested. So no, I did not take your advice. Kieran was the one to chose the dress.”

Leliana laughed. “He has excellent taste then.”

—-

When they left the council meeting later in the day, Leliana did not notice that she had accidentally mixed up part of Morrigan’s letter. As usual all papers were picked up by Josephine, who took them to be filed in her office. After putting the papers away she left to have lunch with Leliana.

Which is when Sera, looking for some prank material, came snooping around. She was hoping to find a list of visiting dignitaries, something she could use to prank some of the high and mighty ponces that liked to strut around Skyhold, acting like they were the ones saving the world. As if just being seen in the Inquisition was enough to stop Coryfathingie. 

Going through Josephine’s files Sera came across an interesting couple pages. There was no indication of who there were written by—or for—but after reading just a couple lines Sera could tell this was not Josie’s usual paperwork. Regular paperwork did not refer to nearly as many body parts and what intimate things the writer wanted to do to them.

It was most definitely a letter. A very personal letter. And hidden among Josie’s papers, as if she didn’t want anyone finding it. With a mischievous smirk Sera slipped the pages under her shirt and left the office. 

She ran all the way to the tavern, where she found Bull, Varric, and Blackwall were having lunch together. 

“You won’t believe what I found,” she said as she sat down at their table. 

“What is it?” Blackwall asked. 

Sera smirked. She knew a thing or two about Blackwall that he and Josie liked to keep secret. “Oh like you don’t know,” she pulled out the letter and handed it to him. “Look familiar?”

Blackwall read through the letter, his eyes widened, and whistled once he finished. He passed it to Iron Bull next. 

“I have no idea what that is,” Blackwall said. 

“What?” Sera said. “But, I found it in Josie’s papers. Who else wrote it if not you?”

Blackwall paused, a spoon of stew halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“You know,” Sera said. “You and Josie, always leaving things for each other…this isn’t yours?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Blackwall said. “And no, it’s not mine.”

“It’s definitely hot,” Iron Bull said, passing the letter to Varric. “Whoever wrote it.”

“You think she has a lover no one knows about?” Sera asked. 

“I…” Blackwall looked downcast. “I didn’t think she did.”

“Who wrote this then?” Sera asked.

“Well,” said Varric, looking over the letter. “The handwriting is very good, and the spelling is perfect. Someone educated. Maybe a noble? Dialect,” he flipped through the two pages, “is Ferelden. Guess she has an intimate friend in Ferelden? Whoever wrote it is a pretty damn good writer. That’s some high quality personalized smut right there.”

“Whoever this is,” Blackwall said. “I never would have thought that Lady Montilyet would be the kind to receive letters like that.”

“We should ask her who it is,” Sera said.

“I don’t think that would go very well,’ Varric said. “You’d just embarrass the poor thing. And Leliana would kill you. Better put it back, and pretend you never saw it.”

“Oh fine,” Sera sighed. “Perfectly good bit of fun wasted there.”

—-

The door to Josephine’s office was slightly propped open when Sera arrived. She could hear voices from inside. Loud voices. All of them women, and one very angry. Sera paused to listen before opening the door.

“Well where is it then?” Sera didn’t recognize that voice, she peeked through the crack in the door, catching a glimpse of that creepy mage woman. Morrigana, Morgana, something like that.

“I put all the paperwork from the meeting in the same place,” Josie was saying. “It should be with the letter the Hero of Ferelden sent the Inquisitor. If his letter to you was with my papers it would be right there.”

Hero of Ferelden? Sera frowned. What were they going on about?

“Could someone have stolen it?” Morrigan asked. 

“I don’t see how,” Leliana said. “Nobody should be able to open those locks. Unless…”

Something in Sera’s brain clicked, and she finally put two and two together. She’d heard rumors about the Hero of Ferelden. She was in Denerim during the blight, but hadn’t cared much to think about those times. She had heard from the others that he and Morrigan were an item. He was braver than Sera for sure. Morrigan was a knockout for certain, but absolutely terrifying even if she wasn’t a mage. If she was looking for a letter that was meant to be with Josie’s papers…

The pit of Sera’s stomach dropped out from beneath her. Oh shite…

—-

Varric was seated at his usual spot, quill in hand and paper in front of him. He was trying to write down what he remembered from the letter. He’d change a few details of course, but it would make for some good reference material. He wasn’t one to write hardcore smut, but the letter had tickled a certain part of his brain. Maybe he could try his hand at it.

“Varric, Varric, Varric,” he heard Sera cry, stopping her run in front of his table. “I need your help!”

“What is it?” Varric asked, looking up from his paper. He surreptitiously covered what he had written with his arm. 

Sera explained what she had just found out. Who the letter she had swiped actually belonged to.

After she was done, Varric stared at her. “Oh,” he said. “That’s not good.”

“No frick it’s not good!” Sera cried. “What am I going to do?”

“Hide?” Varric suggested. Sera groaned at him. “Well, you need to get it back to her. Somehow. Without her knowing you, or anyone else, read it. I’ve heard she’s Flemeth’s daughter.” He elaborated when Sera gave him a blank stare. “You know. Ancient abomination, thousands of years old. Steals children and devours them?” 

Sera looked like she was about to cry. 

“Don’t worry,” Varric said. “She’d probably settle just for killing you.”

They heard the sound of Josephine’s office door opening. Sera’s head snapped round, her eyes growing wide as she saw Morrigan and Leliana leaving. By the time Varric turned to look at Sera she was already gone. 

“Huh,” he said as he tossed his paper into the fireplace. “She can really disappear when she wants to. Almost as good as Cole.”

—-

Cassandra had just finished her training when a blur came streaking by the training grounds. It almost looked like Sera, but she could not be certain. As Cassandra put her sword away she noticed some papers lying on the ground. She picked them up, and looked over them to see if she could find who they belonged to.

Within minutes Cassandra felt like she need to take a cold bath. This letter…not even Varric’s books could compare to this. She would be horrified to be found with this, but was dreadfully fascinated by what she read. It read like a letter, but taken from the middle of the letter, with no name for who it was meant for and who it was written by. 

Perhaps it was Varric’s? He had written smut before, nothing like this obviously, but still. Perhaps he was trying to branch out? She decided that if nothing else Varric might know who it belonged to.

She found the dwarf in his usual spot. As Cassandra approached she noted that Leliana and Lady Morrigan were headed up into the rookery. 

“Varric,” Cassandra called. “I found this outside. Is it yours?”

Varric took one look at the pages and cursed. “Dammit! Don’t bring that thing back to me!”

“Why? Didn’t you write it?” Cassandra asked. “It’s quite good. Even better than your last chapter.”

“I…” Varric stopped. “You think it’s better than my writing?”

“It’s much more descriptive than usual, and very creative in its descriptions,” Cassandra said.

“Well it’s not mine,” Varric said. “If you must know, it belongs to Lady Morrigan. It’s part of a letter the Hero of Ferelden wrote to her.”

Cassandra paused. The implications of what Varric had just told her sinking in. 

“Ah,” she said. “I should probably return it to her then.”

“Are you crazy?” Varric cried. “She’ll kill you!”

“I did not steal it from her,” Cassandra said. “And it is her property. I should return it to her.”

“But what if she asks you if you read it?” 

“I will tell her the truth,” Cassandra said. “And apologize. Where is she?”

“In the rookery,” Varric said, sighing. “She and Leliana went to check the papers up there.”

Cassandra climbed the stairs to the rookery. Knowing who the letter was from, and who it was for, she could not help but feel immensely jealous of Morrigan. The passion in her relationship was evident, even through a simple letter.

She was lost in thought, so Cassandra did not notice Dorian until she had bumped into him. She dropped the papers, and before she could pick them back up Dorian had reached down and gathered them up. She tried to grab the paper from Dorian, but the mage had caught a glimpse of what was written on them and danced out of her reach. 

“My, my, my, Cassandra,” Dorian said. “I did not realize things were so serious between you and Maxwell.”

“It’s not mine,” Cassandra grabbed the papers. 

“Well whose is it then?” Dorian asked. 

Morrigan chose that exact moment to appear in the library—expression thunderous—followed by Leliana. She saw the papers in Cassandra’s hands and dashed over, grabbing them from her. She took a second to read the first page. 

The look Morrigan gave Cassandra froze her blood as effectively as any Seeker’s abilities. 

“Where,” she seethed. “Did you. Get. This.”

“It was dropped by the training field,” Cassandra said. “I happened to come upon it.”

“Did you read it?” Morrigan asked. 

“I,” Cassandra said. “Yes. I did.”

“Ah,” said Dorian. “So that was your letter? Well…uh…” He turned and ran out of the library. 

Morrigan glared after the other mage. She turned back to Cassandra. “And did you see who did the dropping?”

Cassandra hesitated. “I…did not. They ran by while I wasn’t looking.”

Morrigan sighed. “Wonderful…”

“What,” Leliana said. “I thought you wanted other people to read it. Weren’t you wanting to show it off?”

“That,” Morrigan blushed. An odd sight. “I was just saying that. I didn’t actually want…” She sighed. “Oh well. The damage is done.” She turned to Cassandra. “Don’t tell anyone else what you read.”

With that she stalked off. 

Leliana turned to Cassandra. “So,” she said. “I don’t suppose you remember what was in the letter?”

Cassandra groaned.

—-

Later that evening, in the tavern, most of the companions were gathered around for a late night drink. When Varric strolled in he was relieved to see that Sera was still in one piece. 

“Good to see you’re still alive,” he said, with a laugh. 

“Piss off,” Sera said, anxiously looking around. As if she expected the angry mage to materialize out of thin air. 

“So I take it you were the one to liberate that letter?” Dorian asked Sera. 

“Shut up!” 

They sat, drinking in silence. 

“So,” Iron Bull said. “The Hero of Ferelden writes dirty letters to his lady. Can’t say I expected that.”

“You should have seen her when she saw Cassandra with the letter,” Dorian said. “I thought somebody was going to die right then and there.”

“Cassandra vs Morrigan,” Iron Bull laughed. “Now that’s a fight I’d pay to see.”

“That letter,” Varric said. “Reminds me of something Hawke would have written to Isabela. Though Hawke’s would have had much worse spelling, and have been under the influence of far more alcohol, but still…”

Two of Thedas’ biggest heroes, and both of them had very similar relationships with their women. Varric wondered if that was just a coincidence or if all great men had a preference for difficult women. Well, considering Maxwell and Cassandra, Varric supposed it must be the latter.

—-

The day had been a complete catastrophe, Morrigan thought as she tucked Kieran into bed. It had begun so well, the letter from Aedan had been more than she had hoped for. Both had agreed that they would not let themselves be overcome with loneliness. But after reading his letter, Morrigan could not deny just how much she missed him. The feeling of bitter longing, that she normally hid in the deeper recesses of her mind, had slipped out and was gnawing at her heart. 

“I miss Father,” Kieran said. 

“I know,” Morrigan said, kissing her son’s forehead. 

“You miss Father, don’t you, Mother?” 

Morrigan smiled wistfully. “More than you can imagine, little man. Why the question?” 

“You never say you do,” Kieran said. 

“Your Father knows how I feel, without my needing to say. He knows we miss him. Just as he misses us.”

She turned and closed the door to Kieran’s small room behind her. On the couch—before the fireplace—Aedan’s letter lay on the cushions, the infamous pages back in their rightful place. She picked it up to read it again. She was only glad that the last page had not been included in those misplaced. She read over those lines again, the ones that placed that ache in her heart.

I never wanted to be apart from you like I am now, Morrigan. I still do not know how long I will be away. I have a lead, one that I hope is finally what I have been seeking. But I can’t say for sure whether this is it, or just another false lead like so many before. 

I love you and Kieran, with all my heart. I will come back to you. No matter what it takes.

Always,

Your Aedan.


	6. The Strange Young Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kieran and Leliana have a little heart to heart about someone dearly important to both of them. And some meetings leave a strange first impression.

Maxwell approached Vivienne’s balcony. The Enchanter of the Imperial Court of Orlais liked her privacy, and Maxwell was certain the ability to watch Skyhold’s daily activities from a bird’s eye view was an added bonus. He found Vivienne standing out on the balcony, looking down at the courtyard. She turned to face him when she heard his approach. 

“Ah Inquisitor, darling,” Vivienne said. “So good to see you.”

“Vivienne,” Maxwell inclined his head before joining her on the balcony. 

“You look like a man with questions,” Vivienne said. “What can I do for you?”

“Actually, yes,” Maxwell said. “I was wondering if you could assist me. What do you know about Eluvians?”

Vivienne arched a perfectly poised eyebrow. “Not much, my dear,” she said. “It’s old knowledge, mostly lost to history. Why?”

“Lady Morrigan has suggested that Corypheus may be trying to gain access to one, in order to enter the fade in the flesh,” Maxwell said. “I was hoping that your network of mages would be able to dig up more information.”

“Firstly,” Vivienne said, frowning. “You don’t need to call her ‘Lady’ anything. The woman does not deserve that title.”

“Well actually,” Maxwell started to say, but paused. 

“Actually, what?” Vivienne said. 

“Never mind,” Maxwell said. “It’s not my place to say.”

Vivienne fixed Maxwell with a narrow eyed stare, trying to figure what he had meant to say. When no answers were forthcoming she leaned over the balcony railing and looked down into the courtyard. She noticed a small figure running towards the training field where Cassandra waited. “I’ve seen that child around the fortress,” Vivienne said. “Whose is he? What is he doing here? This is hardly a safe place for children.”

Leaning over to look over the balcony, Maxwell couldn’t suppress the smile on his face when he saw Cassandra running Kieran through a new drill. “Ah, that’s Kieran,” he said. “Lady Morrigan’s son.”

Vivienne’s eyes widened. “She has a child?” She suddenly remembered seeing the boy around the Orlesian court. She had paid him no mind, assuming he was the child of some unimportant family. 

“That explains a lot,” Vivienne said. “What the court would have done with that information. I can see why she would have kept him a secret.”

Maxwell wondered if perhaps he should not have told Vivienne this. It had seemed innocent information, but the way Vivienne was reacting made him a bit uncomfortable. 

“Well,” he said. “If your people could look into the Eluvians. I would be more comfortable with multiple opinions on the matter.”

“Of course, my dear,” Vivienne said, a thoughtful frown on her face. 

After Maxwell had left Vivienne considered what she should do with her newfound information. Certainly she could use the leverage against that wretched woman and…rather not. The boy could not help his parentage, and using him to strike at his mother was far too cruel. Instead Vivienne enjoyed the rush from knowing information that had probably best been kept a secret.

—-  
Leliana found Kieran in the rookery, one of her ravens perched on his shoulder while Kieran ran his hands over the bird’s feathers. He smiled when he saw Leliana approaching, and she found herself unable to resist smiling back.

“Hello Kieran,” Leliana said. “What are you doing?”

“I’m studying your Raven,” Kieran said, as the bird leaned down and pecked at his shirt. “Mother is teaching me how to shapeshift. But I have to study each animal I want to turn into first.”

“And you want to turn into a Raven first?” 

Kieran nodded. “I want to be able to fly. But I can’t figure out how it knows how to fly.”

“It’s a bird,” Leliana said. “It just knows.”

“Yes,” Kieran said. “But I’m not a bird. So how do I learn how to fly if I can’t turn into a bird because I don’t know how they know how to fly.”

“Uh,” Leliana blinked. She normally considered herself capable of following explanations of unfamiliar topics fairly well. But hearing Kieran talk was like hearing a fish describe how wet water was. To him it was just the way of the world, so why would anyone not understand what he was saying? Perhaps, she considered, in a way she could understand his dilemma with the Raven.

The aforementioned bird jumped off of Kieran’s shoulder, fluttering back to its perch. Kieran watched it fly away, then turned to look at Leliana. “If only I could get them to sit still long enough.”

Leliana laughed. Kieran stood, watching her, as if expecting something more. Leliana might have felt uncomfortable from the attention, but she noticed so many of Aedan’s feature’s in the boy that it was almost like having an adorable younger version of her friend with her. 

“Tell me,” Leliana said, a sudden wistful mood striking her. “About your father.”

Kieran frowned. “But you’re his friend, you know him.”

“Yes,” Leliana said. “But I have not seen him in almost ten years. You’ve known him for longer than I have.”

“Okay,” Kieran said, accepting the strange logic. “What did you want to know?”

“Where did you live? When the three of you were together.”

“In the other place,” Kieran said.

“Other place?”

“It’s the place we reached through the mirror,” Kieran said. “Mother said it was another world. A smaller world. We had a little cabin there, next to a forest. Father would go into the forest to hunt food, while Mother taught me. Then Father would bring the food home, and while Mother cooked it he would teach me how to use a sword once I was old enough. Or he would read to me. Story books, history books. He taught me about our family’s history.”

“It sounds wonderful,” Leliana said. “Why did you leave?”

“Mother says that we could not stay there forever,” Kieran said. “That I had a destiny in the real world. So once she said I was old enough we left. And went to Orlais.”

“Was your father with you in Orlais?”

Kieran shook his head. “Mother and I lived in Orlais at first, but Father went back to Ferelden. He had business to attend to. From when he was living with us. He came back, in disguise, later. Mother said I couldn’t tell anyone who my parents were, that it wasn’t safe. He lived with us, in secret, in Orlais. Then he had to leave again.”

Leliana’s heart broke at the look in Kieran’s eyes. The poor boy was barely ten years old, all he wanted was for his Father to be there. And yet it could not be, not for now.

“Did your father say why he had to leave?” Leliana asked.

“Mother explained it, afterwards,” Kieran said. “She told me that Father would die in twenty years, unless he found a cure for the taint.” There was fear in his eyes. Leliana could tell that Kieran took an oddly logical approach to the world for one so young. But he was still a boy, afraid for his father, missing him dearly. 

Kieran cocked his head at Leliana. “You don’t like my mother.”

“Uh,” Leliana stammered. “What makes you say that?” 

“It’s obvious,” Kieran said. “To anyone watching. Why don’t you like her?”

“Well,” Leliana said. “It’s complicated. I like her well enough now, but when we both knew your father we did not get along. But I can see that she is not the same person she was back then. You’ve helped her become a better person.”

Kieran frowned, as if to say he did not see how he made his mother a better person. To him she was always a good person. She was his mother, what else could she be but good?

“Father said you know a lot of stories,” Kieran said. “Could you tell me a story?”

Leliana wanted to refuse, she had put that part of her life behind herself. But the look in Kieran’s eyes, so much like his father’s—Aedan had been a champion at the puppy dog look. Whenever his silver tongue failed him and he did not need to preserve his dignity he could get his way with that look. And he seemed to have passed it along to his son. 

More than that though, Leliana could see what Kieran was really asking. He wanted to hear her stories about his Father. Leliana could not refuse him.

“Very well,” she said. “Sit down and I’ll tell you a story.”

Kieran sat down at Leliana’s table, as the former bard began to tell the tale of her journey at the side of the Hero of Ferelden. Certain details, particularly the more licentious details of his parents’…courtship, were left unsaid. After a while Leliana noticed that some of her agents were lingering, listening to her story. She was not surprised, many of these people knew her as well as anyone knew her nowadays, and they had all heard about her stories. It was a rare opportunity for them indeed. Leliana continued the story and she felt happier than she had in a long time.

—-

Dorian was heading to the library after waking up somewhat later than usual. To his surprise he found his usual spot occupied. He had not yet met Kieran, though he had seen the lad wandering the fortress, and was aware who the boy’s parents were. Kieran was reading a heavy bound book that looked comically large in his lap. 

“Dragon Cults of Tevinter,” Dorian read aloud. “Heavy reading for a boy your age.” 

Kieran looked up. “He…I wanted to know about Tevinter history,” Kieran said. “I was curious. So much has been lost and misunderstood.”

“Well,” Dorian said, taking a seat in the chair across from Kieran. “I happen to be somewhat of an expert on Tevinter history. Though, I suppose, recent discoveries have cast my supposed expertise into doubt. I could still answer any questions you may have, young man.”

“Your country used to worship dragons,” Kieran said, looking up from his book. “Why don’t you anymore? Some of them still exist. They were real.”

“Well, the fact that they currently slumber, awaiting the time when they will ravage the world as archdemons does put a damper on most would be worshippers.” Dorian sighed. “Though that hasn’t stopped some. The official reason why dragon worship died out in most of the Imperium has to do with Archon Hessarian’s conversion to Andrastianism. When the ruler of your country changes faith, and instates it as the state religion, making it his life’s work to wipe out the old cults, that tends to change one’s views over the course of several generations.”

“But what if the old gods came back? What if one of them returned, not as an archdemon, but as it once was, purified of the taint? Would people worship it?”

Dorian felt somewhat uncomfortable with the questions. The boy was not asking questions a ten year old would. He seemed to have an odd amount of foreknowledge on the topic. More than he would have expected a boy of his age to have at least. 

“Well,” Dorian hummed. “I suppose some might. But I say more fool they. The old gods were nothing but dragons. Powerful dragons to be sure, but not beings particularly deserving of worship.”

Kieran nodded and turned back to his book. It did not seem like he was going to ask any more questions, so Dorian picked out the book he had been reading from the shelves and set to his own study. 

Some hours passed, and the two still sat reading. Dorian could finally take it no more. He had to ask the question that had been itching the back of his brain.

“So why the interest in the old gods?” He asked Kieran. 

Kieran looked up, seemed to consider the question for a minute. “The world is different from what he remembers. So much has changed. It confuses him.”

“I…see?” Dorian had no clue what the boy was talking about. “And who is this ‘he’?”

“He is the last age,” was all Kieran would say. He looked back at his book, read a couple lines, and then closed it. Kieran left without saying anything else.

“What was that all about?” 

Dorian looked over his shoulder. Vivienne was standing at the corner of the bookshelf, looking down the stairs where Kieran had just left.

“Oh, nothing much,” Dorian said. “Lad had some questions about the old Tevinter gods.”

“And what was he talking about at the end there?” 

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Dorian said. “Children say strange things sometimes. You should have heard half the things that came out of my mouth when I was his age.”

“Indeed,” Vivienne frowned down the stairs. Her brow creased in confusion and curiosity. 

“Is everything all right?” Dorian asked. 

“Oh perfectly fine, dear,” Vivienne said, before turning and heading back to her balcony. 

Dorian shrugged and turned back to his reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter this week, just some random interactions I thought were needed but didn’t have a clear idea of how to flesh them out beyond the basics you see here. I’m thinking this fic will be a few more chapters, just to cover some interactions I think are needed. Then we’ll see if we continue post Skyhold for this story or leave it as is.
> 
> Also, I am currently working on a multi-warden retelling of Origins. I see quite a few of these, few of them ever finished, and those that do get really far never have the pairings I like. Well that’s what fanfiction is for. If we don’t like a story retell it exactly the same but with our own pairings substituted for whatever the writer intended. Let me know if anyone is interested in reading this, I’m currently writing the chapters out and holding off on posting them until I’ve gone through a few editing passes and actually have a good chunk written out.


	7. A Mother's Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell and his group find an orphaned infant while out in the field. Unfortunately none of them know how to take care of a baby.

Varric looked up from his notebook. He was sitting by the campfire, enjoying some warm spiced wine, the blend of spices a bit thick and cloying, but enjoyable nonetheless, trying to sort out his notes from the most recent trip the Inquisition specialists had made. His concentration was shattered by a cry he had not expected to hear out in the wilds as they were. Dorian and Iron Bull, who were both sitting around the campfire as well, looked up when they heard the noise.

Maxwell, accompanied by Cassandra, Vivienne, and Sera, stepped into the middle of the Inquisition tents carrying a bundle of brown cloth. A squirming bundle. It took Varric a moment to realize the cry was coming from the squirming bundle. 

“What,” Varric said, setting aside his notebook, placing the cup of warm wine on top of the level surface of the book’s cover, and standing up. “Is that?”

“It’s a baby, innit?” Sera said, cutting in before Maxwell who had just been about to speak. “What else would it be?”

Varric stopped mid-step towards them, blinking. “Well obviously,” he said. “Who wouldn’t expect a baby in the middle of nowhere? What have you four been up to exactly?”

“And why weren’t we invited?” Iron Bull said, a quirk in his brow and a crooked smile on his lips. “You obviously had more fun than we did.”

Maxwell rolled his eyes. “Hardly,” he said. “Unless your idea of fun is coming across a burnt out farmhouse and finding an orphaned child hidden away under a basket.”

He stepped up to the fire and sat down with the still crying and squirming bundle, a frown on his forehead as he looked down at the wailing infant. 

“Is it going to keep doing that?” Dorian asked, looking at the child nervously, as if expecting it to explode in a torrent of throw-up. 

“I don’t know what he wants,” Maxwell said, placing a finger against the child’s forehead. “He doesn’t have a fever or anything. I don’t think.”

“He’s probably hungry,” Varric said, gesturing towards the pot the wine had been heated in. “Maybe some warm milk or something?”

“Ooh, I have some milk!” Sera said, darting off into her tent.

“You aren’t warming it in that,” Cassandra said, a frown accenting the sharp angles of her forehead. “There’s alcohol in there.”

“Well, obviously we’re not doing that,” Varric said. “I was just gesturing towards it as an example. We’ll use a different pot.”

A clattering announced Sera climbing out of her tent, an earthenware jug and cast iron sauce pan in hand. 

“Why do you have milk in your pack?” Iron Bull asked. 

“None of your business,” Sera said. Varric chuckled. He’d caught Sera warming a saucer of milk before going to bed once. She’d sworn him to secrecy after admitting that she couldn’t sleep without some warm milk and honey. So she would wait until everyone else was asleep before heating her drink.

“Not too hot,” Cassandra said, hovering anxiously around Maxwell and the crying infant. The Inquisitor was trying to calm the child by rocking it in his arms, but the crying would not cease. 

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Maxwell said. “He just won’t calm down.”

“Let me try,” Cassandra said, holding her arms out. Maxwell handed the child over to Cassandra, an amused smirk on his face. Once placed in Cassandra’s arms the child seemed to quiet. Cassandra tentatively smiled at it, only for the crying to resume thrice-fold. 

Varric and the other’s laughed, while Cassandra desperately tried to calm the infant. But to no avail. Cassandra looked around desperately, her eyes lighting on Vivienne, standing there with a neutrally composed expression.

“Don’t look at me, dear,” Vivienne said. “I do not handle children. Too smelly and sticky.”

“Here, let me try,” Iron Bull said. Cassandra looked at the large man warily. “Relax,” he said. “I’m great with kids.”

Cassandra passed the squirming bundle off to Iron Bull, who held it with surprising gentleness for one so large. 

“Hey there,” he smiled at the child. There was a moment of silence as the child looked up at the horned and scarred visage of The Iron Bull. Then an even louder cry split the night air.

“For the love of, you’re scaring the poor thing!” Dorian took the child away from Iron Bull, who wandered off, muttering, to sulk. Dorian seemed to realize what he had done, held the child at arms length, watching it like a Templar watching a mentally unstable mage. 

“Here, the milk’s ready,” Sera said, taking her saucepan from the fire. 

“Sera,” Maxwell said, looking at the roiling white liquid. “That’s boiling! You can’t feed that to the child!”

“I’ll let it cool down!” Sera said, looking around the camp. “Uh…do we have a…bottle or something?”

—-

Leliana and Josephine were waiting for the Inquisitor’s party to arrive, having been informed by Leliana’s scouts that he had almost arrived back in Skyhold. They were caught off guard as Maxwell arrived, the rest of his team in tow, with a small addition. Varric was carrying a brown bundle, rocking it in his arms, while an unearthly wail carried through the crisp Skyhold air. As the group drew closer, Leliana could see that they all had dark bags under their eyes. Except for Vivienne and Dorian, who seemed to have tried to cover theirs with powder, only they seemed to have done a poor job of it.

“Uh…” Was all Leliana could think to say. 

“I know, I know,” Maxwell said. “We found an orphan baby in the wreckage of a barn, thought maybe we could find someone to take care of it in Skyhold?”

“I…think we can find a family for the child,” Josephine stuttered, caught off her guard, but also wanting to take a closer look at the child. “Why won’t it stop crying?”

Varric shrugged. “No idea.”

“Well, this is certainly unexpected,” Leliana jumped a little as Morrigan appeared at her side. “Is the Inquisition starting an orphanage?”

“Actually, that wouldn’t be a terrible idea,” Josephine started to say, stopping only when she saw Morrigan’s amused expression. “Say, could I try holding it?”

“Be my guest,” Varric said. “None of the rest of these clowns could get him to stop crying.”

Josephine took the child from Varric. “I used to help take care of my younger siblings…” But the child would not stop screaming.

Leliana watched as a flustered Josephine tried to calm the child. She turned, frowning at Morrigan who was doing a terrible job at hiding her obvious mirth. “You think this is funny?”

Morrigan shook her head. “Tis somewhat amusing, but ultimately pathetic. Give the child here.”

Vivienne took a step forward. “As if anyone here would let you get your claws into the poor thing.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes. “Yes, of course. Keep the poor, innocent child away from the one woman present who has experience with children. Why I could do all manner of terrible things to it. Such as tell you the child is obviously hungry and needs to be washed. Tis most sensible of you.”

“We’ve tried feeding it,” Maxwell said, as Josephine handed the child to Morrigan. “But it only drinks a little and then won’t drink anymore.”

“Did you warm the milk first?” Morrigan asked, as she adjusted the bundle in her arms, taking extra care to place her hand behind the child’s head. 

“Yes!” Cassandra said. 

“It was probably too hot,” Morrigan said. “Tis difficult to get the temperature right.” She turned to Leliana. “Have someone fetch fresh cloth, some warm water, a washing cloth and towel. And a hollowed horn, tell the cook to warm some milk, and have her mash some fruits and vegetables into a bowl and bring it to me.” She turned towards the great hall, Leliana and the rest of the group following behind her. 

Within minutes, after the supplies had arrived, Morrigan had cleaned the child, changed his diaper, and wrapped him in a warm blanket. Once the milk and mashed fruit arrived Morrigan placed the glass cup of milk against her forehead. 

“Too hot,” she muttered, blowing lightly on the glass. Ice crystals formed for an instant before melted against the hot surface. She placed the glass against her forehead again. “Perfect.” 

Morrigan took the hollowed out horn cup that had been brought, and sawed off the tip. She filled the bottom with clean cloth, so that a nub stuck out from the small hole at the end of the horn. “This will have to do,” she said, pouring the warm milk into the horn.

The baby, who had stopped crying after being washed and clothed, eagerly took the cloth into his mouth, sucking on the milk that was soaking through the cloth. After he had drunk, Morrigan fed him some of the mashed fruits and vegetables. She then stood up, placing the child over her shoulder. Pacing as she patted his back lightly, Morrigan just so happening to cause the child to burp up a little bit of milk and mashed fruit and vegetables as she was passing Vivienne. The enchanter swore and danced aside, unable to avoid the splatter of food that hit her.

“Oh,” Morrigan smirked. “Do pardon me.” She turned back to the Inquisitor. “Now then, now that this child is no longer in danger from your incompetence, perhaps you should look into finding someone else to take the child in? I am not about to adopt it.”

“That would be a nice welcome home present for Aedan,” Leliana muttered. “‘Hello, we’ve adopted a baby.’”

“And he would like it,” Morrigan muttered out of the corner of her mouth so only Leliana could hear her. “Tis the problem.”

Leliana laughed. Aedan always did have a soft spot for children, and apparently so did Morrigan, who gently rocked the child in her arms, cooing at it once the group had dispersed. 

—-

Morrigan was sitting in her quarters, in front of the fireplace, the infant boy dozing off in her arms. Kieran was sitting on the couch next to her, occasionally looking over at the child. 

The little boy reminded her of Kieran when he was only a few months old. There was something about the eyes…

—-  
Ten Years Ago. North-Western Ferelden.

Kieran would not stop crying. Morrigan tried as best she could to shield him from the winter cold with her cloak, but still he cried. Mother had not prepared her for this, the plan had been for Morrigan to return to Flemeth, who she had assumed would show her how to care for the child. It was only later that Morrigan had realized that had never been the plan. Hence she had never been taught how to care for an infant, and now she found herself responsible for a child. Her child.

His child.

She drove thoughts of the Warden from her mind. It was a weakness she could not afford, not when the life of her little one depended on her strength. He had been her strength, she could have borrowed his strength, her treacherous mind reminded her. She cursed, the words lost in the howling of the wind and snow. 

She needed shelter. Morrigan cursed the band of Templars that had forced her from her hiding place. It had been warm there, she had risked a fire to keep Kieran warm, but the smoke had attracted the attention of the Templars. Only just had she escaped unnoticed by them. Unless she put more distance between herself and her old hiding spot she could be caught.

But Kieran needed someplace warm. She needed someplace warm. There was nothing to be found in the driving snow. 

Then, a warm glow. Morrigan thought perhaps a fire, lighting up the darkness and the stinging flecks of snow in the air. She moved towards it, cautiously making her way across the treacherous snow. Until finally she came across a building. It was a farmhouse, through the windows Morrigan was able to see a person moving about. She considered asking for help, but the thought that they might betray her froze her heart better than the stinging winds ever could. Next to the farmhouse was a barn. Morrigan snuck past the house, and slipped through the barn doors. It was not warm within, but it gave shelter from the wind and snow. It would do. 

The heavy musk of farm animals filled the barn, and as Morrigan drew closer to the druffalo in their pens she noticed that the large animals heated their area of the barn as well as any fire could. The large creatures lowed as she walked past them. She gathered straw from the other end of the barn, making a pile near the druffalo, to absorb as much of their body heat as possible. 

Morrigan set aside her pack, spreading her bedroll over the hay. Kieran mewled as she laid him down on the makeshift bed. It was soft, softer than she had expected. She undid the laces of the heavier top she now wore. Kieran would be hungry. 

Once she had fed Kieran, Morrigan laid herself down on the bedroll, holding Kieran close to her. She thought of staying awake, she had to keep watch in case of…

But the hay truly was too soft, and the barn was unexpectedly warm. Morrigan dozed off, unable to keep her tired body and mind awake.

—-

She awoke to something prodding her in the back. “Not now,” she muttered. “Let me sleep a little longer. Insufferable man…”

“I don’t know who you think I am,” a voice said. “But I am sure as snow not a man.”

Morrigan bolted upright, clutching Kieran to her chest. The child started bawling, but Morrigan ignored him, focusing instead on the threat to the two of them. Her head swam, she was not sure how long she had slept, but it had not been enough. Or too much.

A woman was standing in front of her, holding a lantern and in her other hand… A spear! Morrigan reached for her staff, but found it out of reach, the woman standing between her and her staff. 

“Calm yourself, missy,” the old woman said. “I mean you know harm. Had to make sure you meant me no harm.” Morrigan glared at the woman. “Ha! Now that’s a fierce look if ever I saw one.” She glanced down at Kieran, Morrigan twisted her body, putting herself between Kieran and this woman, glaring over her shoulder, waiting for what the woman would do.

“Don’t give me that,” the old woman said. “You’ll freeze to death out here. Come inside where it is warm and where there is food.” 

Morrigan hesitated. She could not afford to trust anyone. But she had no food, her strength was waning, and without her strength Kieran would… Morrigan decided to take a chance she never would have before. Were it just she, Morrigan would flee into the storm and find another place to sleep. A winter storm was little concern for a wolf or bear. But with Kieran… Morrigan could not risk exposing him to the cold any further. Cursing her Warden, and hoping that his example was not about to get herself and their child killed, she decided to trust. 

The farmhouse was much warmer than the barn. A fire roared in an old stone hearth, a kettle hanging from a hook bubbled and hissed happily. Two chairs were set in font of the fire, between them a table atop which sat a basket of needles, yarn, and thread. Morrigan glanced around, eyes open for any possible escape routes. 

“Sit,” the old woman said, now that they were in the light Morrigan could tell that she was quite old. She looked older than Flemeth, stooped and wizened. Morrigan almost had to laugh at her earlier apprehension. But she did not. She knew better than anyone that a crone-like visage could hide any number of foul creatures. 

Still, she sat in the chair, in front of the fire, a sobbing Kieran in her lap. The warmth of the fire washed over her like a lover’s embrace. She shook her head, casting the image from her mind. Ever since Kieran’s birth she had found her treacherous mind wandering in the direction of her Warden. Wondering what he was doing. If he had recovered, of course he had, he was a strong man. What would he do if he was here? Would he hold her like he once did, hold their child for the first time. Or would he spit on her for what she had done to him. Never mind that she had saved his life, in truth she knew that she had hurt him far beyond what one measly life could repay. 

Kieran cried out. Morrigan made soothing noises, focusing on the moment, on her son. But Kieran would not quiet. 

“What do you want?” Morrigan asked in desperation. “I have fed you, you are clean, and warm. I am here. What could you truly want?”

“You’re holding him wrong,” the old woman appeared with a bowl of stew, setting it on the table next to Morrigan’s chair. 

“What?” Morrigan looked up at the woman, who was short enough that Morrigan did not have to look far up even while sitting. She wondered if the woman was perhaps part dwarf. 

“Here,” she said. “Put your hand behind his head, properly support it.” 

Morrigan adjusted her grip on Kieran, and within moments Kieran stopped crying, instead looking up at Morrigan with far too familiar eyes. 

“He stopped crying!” Morrigan felt like rejoicing. In the months since his birth Kieran was rarely not crying. 

“You just have to know how to treat them properly,” the old woman said. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you how to take care of a child?”

The smile dropped from Morrigan’s face. “No,” she said, acid in her voice. “She did not.”

The old woman watched Morrigan for a moment. Finally, she hummed sat in the other chair and picked up the sock she had been darning. They sat in silence, broken only by the sound of Kieran’s cooing. It was an odd silence, one Morrigan supposed could be described as companionable, though she herself was still too wary to truly consider it as such. 

Finally, the old woman looked up from her sock. “If you are to share my roof I had best be sure about you.”

“What is it you want to know?” Morrigan frowned at the old woman.

“Your name for one,” the old woman said. “I am Ruth.”

Morrigan hesitated. “Tis Morrigan. My name.”

Ruth nodded. “Old name that. And what were you doing out in the middle of a snowstorm with a newborn child?”

“Twas not my intention,” Morrigan said. “The storm caught me off guard.”

“I see,” Ruth shook her head. “You are lucky you found my barn when you did. You and that boy could not have lasted much longer in that storm. Where is his father, might I ask?”

“His father,” Morrigan hesitated again. “He is…not here.”   
“I see,” Ruth repeated. “You are lucky. That’s a strong child you have there. And I know a thing or two about children. Been a midwife for nigh unto seventy years. Your baby reminds me a lot of a child I helped deliver, a few actually. In fact, I was the midwife for the Couslands, back when they were still all alive.”

Morrigan had been about to tell the old woman to stop talking, her inane chatter was like some horrid amalgamation of the Bard and the old Circle hag. But upon hearing that name…Cousland… she paused. “You…were?”

“Aye, delivered Teyrn Fergus’ little boy, rest his soul,” Ruth said. “I was around when Teyrna Eleanor gave birth to Teyrn Fergus in the first place. Big thing he was, big and quiet. Came out with little fuss. His brother on the other hand…”

Against herself, Morrigan perked up.

“Lord Aedan,” Ruth chuckled. “If ever I would have thought a child would have grown to singlehandedly save Ferelden it would have been that one. He was a fighter he was. Struggled all the way out of the womb, fighting me the whole time, made the birthing process especially difficult. Cried his poor head right off if you’d believe me. Didn’t stop struggling until he had been fed, and then he went right to sleep as peaceful as anything.”

Morrigan laughed, despite herself, but it cut off in a quiet sob. Twas just like her Warden, feisty from the beginning but docile once comfortable. Kieran had been like that, struggling into life in the middle of the Bannorn. Morrigan had feared she would lose him, his struggles had been so fierce. But once she held her little man in her arms, once he had been fed, he settled down against her and they both had been able to sleep off the exhaustion of their ordeal. 

Old Ruth watched Morrigan with a keen eye. If she suspected anything, like Morrigan feared, she said nothing. Though how she could possibly know, Morrigan could not say. It was just her paranoid imagination trying to get the better of her.

“Yes,” Ruth said, looking over at Kieran who was starting to settle down. “After several years, you get a sense for this kind of thing. You can tell when a child belongs to their parents. Just from mannerisms, their eyes, the tone of their cries. All babies sound and act similar to their relatives.” She looked up from Kieran, staring straight into Morrigan’s eyes. “But sometimes it’s just my imagination.”

She stood up, walking over to a chest, from which she pulled a blanket, that she stuffed into a straw basket. “Here,” she handed the basket to Morrigan. “That will do for a bed for the little one. You need to eat, and he needs his sleep.”

Gratefully, surprising to her, Morrigan took the basket and laid Kieran within, being sure to cover him properly with the blanket, after ensuring no unpleasant surprises lay within the basket. Once she had set Kieran at her feet, angled so that the heat from the fire would keep him warm, she picked up the stew, sniffing it to catch any possible hint of poison. When she found none she placed a tiny amount on her tongue. It was well seasoned and rich for a peasant’s stew. Morrigan detected hints of spices she had used in her own cooking in the swamp, and a few that she had never tasted before. She waited for any signs of numbness in her tongue or any of the other hints that the unknown spices were actually poison. When she found none she ingested the stew, only just now fully aware of how hungry she was. 

Ruth allowed her to eat in silence, apparently having said all she intended to say. For this first time in months Morrigan found her mind free to ponder things other than her and Kieran’s immediate survival. Her mind predictably turned to thoughts of her Warden, of Aedan. Ruth’s words had sparked an ache in Morrigan that she had fought to suppress ever since she left Denerim. But without the needs of survival weighing on her mind, Morrigan found that thoughts of Aedan were significantly harder to ignore. She could almost imagine, a small cottage, a warm fire, him at her side while their son slept in his crib…

Morrigan shook her head to clear the thoughts out. Next I will think of painted sheds and bread of all things. Still, regret filled her, images that she had once mocked now filled her with such a sense of longing that caught Morrigan by surprise. Longing and regret. The connection between her and Aedan’s ring twitched. Something, a presence, was tugging at the connection. And she knew that he had felt her, and she felt almost as if he was there with her. Small comfort though it was, she felt better for that little connection, and daring not to dream about more she leaned her head against the back of the chair, allowing herself to doze off.

—-

Present Day. Skyhold.

Old memories those. Morrigan considered, as she held the child in her arms. From a darker time in her life. But in the end, all worth it. She looked over at Kieran, who was starting to doze over his book. 

“Tis time for bed, little man,” she said. 

Kieran feebly protested being tired, but allowed himself to be led to bed. Once he was tucked away Morrigan considered what to do with the child in her arms. 

“I suppose I can make a temporary crib for you, little one.”

She wondered what she would do if a family was not found for the child. Morrigan knew she owed this little one nothing, but though it was not of her own flesh she found that it had the same draw on her as Kieran did. 

Truly I am become a mother, she chuckled. Even this little one has woven his spell on this foolish woman.

There was a knock on the door. Morrigan walked over to open it, revealing Josephine standing on the other side. Behind the ambassador stood two people, a man—elf—and a woman—human. Morrigan cocked her eyebrow at the odd couple, nervously standing side by side under her gaze, the woman more than half a head taller than the man. 

“Yes?” She turned her attention back to Josephine. 

“Lady Morrigan,” Josephine said. “We are in luck, a family has been found that is willing to take the child in.”

“Is that so?” Morrigan turned her gaze back on the couple, who shifted nervously, avoiding looking directly into her eyes. “And are they trustworthy? Can they be trusted to care for the child?”

“If it pleases m’lady,” the woman said, a heavy accent, reminiscent of Northern Ferelden. “My husband and I, Thalis, have been trying to have children for many years, but…”

“What Beth means…” Thalis started to say. 

Morrigan nodded, she did not need either to continue. Fertility among elves was notedly bad. Though chances of children were higher in human and elf pairings, they were still not nearly as good as human and human pairings. She briefly considered the woman a fool for marrying an elf, if children were her desire. But love made fools of even the craftiest. She herself was in no place to accuse any woman of foolishness in this matter. Any woman or man in love were all fools before the world.

“Do you know how to care for children?”

Beth looked up, meeting Morrigan’s eyes. “I’ve been a nurse,” she said. “My mother and grandmother taught me everything I needed to know. And I’ve taken care of many children. My grandmother was a midwife, I assisted her.”

After a moment’s consideration, Morrigan nodded. She held the little boy up and smiled at him. “There,” she said. “We have found someone who wants you. Now you no longer need to pester me.” Despite her harsh words her tone was soft. Children, she had found, could often see beyond the veil adults placed between their words and their true meaning. The little man smiled up at her. She handed the child to Beth, who held him close, speaking in that awful tone of voice so many mothers used. Morrigan sighed. 

“Does he have a name?” Beth looked up at Morrigan. 

Morrigan and Josephine exchanged a glance. “Not one that is known to us,” Morrigan said. “Tis your child now, so tis only fitting that he be named what you chose.”

Beth looked at Thalis. “I’ve always liked the name Oren,” she said.

Morrigan blinked, then nodded. “Tis a fine name,” she smiled as she closed the door behind her. She leaned against the door, her arms achingly light at her side. Finally, she laughed, as she turned to her own bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a dumb little idea I had buried in my notes from months ago. Because I’m an unabashed Morrigan fan I needed to see Morrigan show everyone else up at taking care of a child, since she’s literally the only canon love interest in Dragon Age to even have the option of becoming a mother. And since her character development revolves around her son to a large extent I figured we may as well see a what if of her showing off her new skills. Then I thought of doing the flashback and it all kind of snowballed from there.


	8. Loneliness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hero of Ferelden has been gone for a long time. Despite his mother's assurances, Kieran cannot help but miss his father.

The cold winter air, particularly harsh so high in the mountains, turned Morrigan’s breath to visible steam. As a girl, in the harsh winters of the korcari wilds, she would imagine that she was a fierce, fire breathing dragon. Her mother had put an end to such play when she had discovered Morrigan. To think, Flemeth never told her that she could potentially learn how to become a dragon. Morrigan had to chuckle at the thought.

Though memories of Flemeth soured Morrigan’s mood, they also tempered her frustration at her own child. Kieran, after so long spent in Skyhold, had grown antsy, refusing to remain seated still for his lessons. More and more Morrigan found him playing at the training fields. The Seeker had commented that Kieran seemed to be growing more ferocious when fighting the training dummies. As if something was on his mind that angered him.

Morrigan was no stranger to anger. However, Kieran was always such a sweet child. Many times she had been thankful for Aedan’s influence on their son’s temperament. Whether by example or pure influence of blood. She could understand anger, but dealing with an angry child, such a thing was beyond her. Kieran had been growing more moody as of late. Aedan had joked about how belligerent he had been as a teenager, saying they would need to watch out for when Kieran came to that age. Had she but known Aedan had not said that truly in jest. 

Perhaps handling Kieran’s belligerence in her usual manner had not been the proper way. Aedan had his tantrums—as she liked to call them, it annoyed him when she did—but all in all he was of course an adult, and far more reasonable than most men. Usually reason was enough to calm him down, no need for careful words, just a single, “You are acting the fool” would suffice. Who would have known that would not work with their son. Though, normally it did work. Something was different now.

Supposing to find Kieran at practice, Morrigan wandered over to the training fields. To her surprise she did not find him there. Instead, the Seeker was reading, aloud Morrigan realized as she drew closer, to that strange spirit boy. Morrigan had meant to speak to him, such a fascinating creature needed to be studied. However, the elf mage, Solas, had been most adamant in telling her to stay away from the boy. Twas not worth the effort to argue the point, and she had more important matters at hand. Particularly, the location of her errant son. 

“The guard captain, stood with her back against the lichen covered wall,” Cassandra was reading, she paused and looked up as Morrigan approached. “Ah, Lady Morrigan.”

“Seeker,” Morrigan said. “I had hoped to find my son here. But t’would seem he is not. Has he been here at all today?”

Cassandra shook her head. “I have not seen him, I thought he was supposed to be having his lessons?”

“He is supposed to,” Morrigan sighed. “But he is hiding from me.”

As she was about to turn to leave, Morrigan happened to glance at the spirit boy. He was watching her, intently. It was uncanny, and reminded her of Kieran’s gaze when he got into one of his moods. 

She was about to turn away, when the boy, Cole, Morrigan remembered, spoke.

“Smoke filled lungs. Breathing. No more. So hot, blood, too much blood. So much blood for so small a body.”

Morrigan frowned. “What?”

“Blood on my hands, blood of my blood. Too late. It’s too late. All my fault. In the dungeon. He will die. He did die. Rip the flesh, tear, crush.”

Cole looked up at Morrigan. “You were there, at the end. Why did you leave? Both hurting because you left. Drunken. Anger. Alone. Tired. Why?”

“What are you talking about?” Morrigan asked. 

“I apologize,” Cassandra said. “It’s his way. He speaks the images he sees in your head.”

“They are not my images,” Morrigan said. “Are they yours?”

Cassandra shook her head.

“It’s his hurt,” Cole said. “You heal his hurt. I can see it through you. It never goes away. But. You make it better.”

“Ah,” Morrigan said. “How peculiar that you can see that. I am impressed. However. That is private, it belongs to neither me, nor to you.”

Cole frowned. 

“Small fingers in big hands. He’s grown so much. The only one. He comes out healthy. Leaves nothing. Sacrifice broken. Spent. You never told him? Two Souls. You set him free?”

“What are you…” Morrigan blanched. No, it could not be. “Stop it this instance!”

“What is he…” Cassandra started to say. 

“Nothing!” Morrigan snapped. She glared at Cole. “Never speak of what you saw again. And if you ever look into my mind again I will personally cast you back into the Fade!”

She stormed off. It was clear what Cole had seen. While she had no compunctions anymore about letting Kieran’s father’s identity be known, but she would never let the secret of Kieran’s birth be known.

—-

Cole was in the stables, up by the hay where the birds made a nest and would sing to him if he stayed very quiet. A head popped out of the hay. That wasn’t where heads were meant to be. As Cole watched, the rest of the body appeared too. A boy. Smaller than him.

The boy looked up. “Hello, Cole right?” 

“Yes. I am Cole. You are Kieran?”

“I am.”

“Your mother is looking for you.”

“I know,” Kieran peeked through the straw. “I don’t want to study.”

“I’m good at hiding,” Cole said. “I can help you hide.”

“She hasn’t found me yet,” Kieran said.

Kieran pulled his body out of the hay, the stalks sticking out of his clothing and hair. He leaned back and laid into the hay with a sigh.

“You’re good at hiding. No one has seen him yet.”

He looked up at Cole, who found himself nervous. Something about Kieran’s way of looking at him.

“You can see that?”

“I can see many things,” Cole said. “It’s like a bright light, coming from inside you.

“Well,” Kieran said. “Don’t tell anyone. It would only frighten them.”

“Some people are frightened of me,” Cole said. 

“People are afraid of new things.”

“Not everyone,” Cole said. “Varric and Solas. And Maxwell. They aren’t afraid of me. Or Cassandra. The Iron Bull was afraid of me at first. But now he isn’t.”

Kieran laughed. “I like The Iron Bull, he’s funny.”

They fell into silence.

“You’re angry.”

Kieran frowned.

“You’re angry about him,” Cole said. “Because he is not here.”

Kieran sighed. “Yes.”

“But, he left so he would not have to leave you later. He is gone for you, and your mother. She misses him, but she does not say it. He misses both of you.”

“Well, if he misses us,” Kieran muttered. “Then where is he? I know why he left. He said he would be back. But…”

“He has been gone too long.”

“Yes,” Kieran turned over in the hay, ignoring Cole.

“I’ve never had a father,” Cole said. “What is yours like?”

Kieran did not answer. Finally. “He’s brave. He’s the bravest man in the world. And the strongest in the world too. He taught me, read to me. He would read bedtime stories, Mother would listen to him tell the story. Sometimes he would read from books. Sometimes he would tell the story from memory. Like the story of The Soldier and The Seawolf. Or how the Couslands drove out the Werewolves. Sometimes mother would tell stories about the Chasind.” 

He fell into silence. There was a faint sob. 

“I miss him.”

Cole considered for a moment. 

“Empty caves. So close. Cold fire. Alone. Too long away. So close. Need to return.”

Kieran turned around, looking at Cole. “You can see what he is thinking?”

“He is thinking of you.”

Kieran smiled. “Thank you.”

Kieran slid down the hay. He walked out of the stables, Cole watched him leave. The hurt was still there. But less. There was a lot of love, and a lot of loneliness because of it. 

—-

Morrigan finally found Kieran as he walked up from the lower level of the courtyard. 

“Where have you been!” Morrigan said. She winced at her harsh tone, and tried to continue in a softer tone. “You are meant to be at your studies.”

“I know, Mother,” Kieran said. He wasn’t looking at her. She could tell something was the matter. But she did not know how to approach it.

“Something has been bothering you,” Morrigan said. “I can see as much. I am not so blind. However, I…” She could not find the words. How to even ask what was bothering him?

“Mother,” Kieran looked up. He had grown so much in the past year, he was almost as tall as Morrigan herself now, he would easily be as tall as his father. But despite his growth spurt, Morrigan could see in his eyes, eyes that so often held a mystery she had put upon him, that he was still a child. Unsure of how to handle his emotions at times.

She could relate.

“When is Father coming home?” Kieran continued.

Ah, so that was it. 

“I do not know,” Morrigan said. “He still searches. I know he is well, I can sense it. But…I cannot say more than that. Is that what has been bothering you?”

“Yes!” Kieran cried. “He’s been gone for so long. He said he wouldn’t be long, but…”

“Tis a difficult task your father faces,” Morrigan said. “Many centuries have passed and no one has succeeded in what he is attempting. It will take time.”   
“But,” Kieran looked down.

Morrigan knew what was causing his anguish now. They had separated because at the time Kieran had been far too young to go on such a dangerous journey. She suspected, perhaps, that he blamed himself for the separation.

“Tis not your fault,” Morrigan said. “Your father loves you, and would do anything in the world for you. Tis why he attempts something that has never been done before. Were he here, he would say the same thing.”

Kieran looked up, an incredulous expression on his face. “But, if I was older, we could have gone with him…”

“And we shall be with him soon,” Morrigan said. “As soon as Corypheus has been dealt with we will seek out your father.”

“Yeah mean it?” Kieran asked.

“Truly,” Morrigan said. “Now come, your studies await.”

Later that evening, after Kieran had been put to bed, Morrigan sat before the fire, reading. Her mind was not on the subject matter at hand though, she could not stop thinking about her talk with Kieran.

Though he knew why Aedan had to leave, twas obvious that he had been growing resentful over his father’s absence and his own perceived failings leading to said absence. Morrigan had tried her best to comfort him, inept as she was at the practice. 

She could understand Kieran’s feelings though. Try as she would, and for the most part she was successful, a part of her could not help but feel the distance between her and her love. And she had the connection of the ring with Aedan, Kieran on the other hand did not have that. And he was only just ten years old. It was little wonder that he might feel the sting of loneliness far more than she did.

Morrigan pulled out Aedan’s letter. They had agreed on minimal communication, he needed to stay as focused on his goal as possible, and not waste time finding ways to send them letters. Still, as she smoothed out the worn creases of the letter, perhaps some communication was in order. She glanced at the side table. A quill and parchment, for taking notes, lay upon it. 

Perhaps… Truly he would think she missed him. And it was true. Not that she would ever admit it. But for Kieran’s sake… She pulled the parchment and quill closer to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one, not my favorite of what I’ve written, but after hearing that Inquisition potentially spans THREE TO FOUR YEARS I decided I had to explore exactly how Kieran and Morrigan might react to The Warden being gone for that amount of time. Note that I don’t specifically state how much time has passed, because I don’t want to be skipping any time on this story. I leave it up to you to fill in how much time has passed, but either way Kieran starts to feel the loneliness of his father’s absence. 
> 
> Also, I’ve started playing The Witcher 3. If I suddenly stop updating my Dragon Age fanfictions then you know why now. It’s an amazingly beautiful game and I’m trying really hard not to completely fall in love with Yennefer. Apparently I have a type. Blackhaired Sorceresses with strong personalities. Who knew.


	9. Hidden Stories and Tainted Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some secrets can never remain hidden forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I’m aware that my timeline is a bit skewed. You’ll see why in a couple chapters, but doing research for this chapter reminded me that I may have accidentally messed up when the HoF sends his letter in relation to other missions. Well, let’s just say that Morrigan was eager for an excuse to get in contact with Aedan that she told the Inquisitor about him sooner than she does in the game. Yeah. That works.

Varric tossed his pen aside, frowning as splotches hit the table, but making no move to clean them up. It was one of of those rare moments that he had enough time to sit down and write. He was trying to get his political thriller written, but something wasn’t working about the book. Using Vivienne as the antagonist was working perfectly. And he had his hero. But something was missing. It felt like the story in his head knew exactly what form it wanted to take, but it wasn’t sharing any details as to what he was missing. He needed a break. Clear his mind, get a drink and relax maybe.

“What are you doing?”

Varric looked up, Lady Morrigan’s son was standing by his table, looking at the paper, pens, pencils, and notebooks scattered over its surface. Varric had not had much of a chance to talk to the kid. He seemed to get around the fortress a lot, always popping up in strange places, but never really in the way. Seemed like a nice kid, innocent in a way that only children and Daisy could really be. 

“I’m writing,” he said. “Or trying to.”

“Writing what?” Kieran asked, cocking his head to the side.

“An adventure book,” Varric said, gesturing at the pile of papers covered in neat handwriting. It was significantly smaller than the pile of blank pages next to it. 

“Oh,” Kieran said. “Mother only lets me read books about magic. And history. Herbalism. Poison making. Useful things, she says.”

“So no adventure stories or anything like that?” Varric asked, trying to ignore the park about poison making. “Every kid needs to read some adventure stories.”

Kieran shook his head. “No. But Father would secretly read adventure stories to me.”

“Oh?” Varric gestured to the empty chair at the other edge of the table. “Which books did he read you?”

“The last one he read to me was ‘The Tale of the Champion’,” Kieran said, sitting down in the chair.

“Really?” Varric chuckled nervously. “That doesn’t seem all that appropriate.”

“He skipped a lot of parts,” Kieran said.

“I can imagine,” Varric muttered. “You know, I wrote that book.”

“You did?” Kieran frowned at him, as if deciding whether or not Varric was telling the truth. 

“Yeah,” Varric said. Kieran’s expression brightened, as Varric assumed he was believing him now. Kieran leaned forward in his seat, eyes wide and taking Varric in. Varric couldn’t help but chuckle, he’d heard from some of the others that there was something strange about the kid. But all he could see right now was a fan.

“Did everything you wrote in the book really happen?”

“It did,” Varric said. “More or less, I may have tweaked some details here and there.”

“Like what?” Kieran frowned. 

“How many enemies there were, some of the dialogue I invented, but it was all in character. To make the story more interesting.”

“Isn’t life interesting enough?” Kieran asked. 

“For some people it is,” Varric chuckled. “But sometimes a good story needs some adjustment. Did you have any favorite parts?”

“The fight against the Arishok,” Kieran said. “Father would act it out. One time he was too loud and Mother noticed. She wasn’t happy. It took him three days to convince her to let him read it to me again.”

Varric laughed. “Your mother sounds very strict.”

Kieran nodded. “She is.”

A thought occurred to Varric. Something about the topic of Lady Morrigan stirred the story he was working on in his mind. From the little he had interacted with her, she exuded mystery and intrigue. The way she carried herself carried a kind of raw sex appeal, she was a bit similar to Rivaini in that aspect. And yet, from everything he heard she was completely monogamous, which couldn’t barely be said of Isabela even at her most infatuated with Hawke. Rivaini was lucky she enjoyed an open relationship with Hawke. Still, a mysterious witch from the wilds, seducing a hero, and then instead of the assumed ill intentions she started a family with said hero. There was something he could work with there.

Perhaps a side character, an ally of the hero of his political intrigue story, providing assistance. And the twist that despite her character archetype she is a family woman. Yeah, that could work.

“So,” Varric said. “What’s she like? Your mother.”

Kieran frowned at the question, as if unsure what Varric meant. “What do you mean?”

“As a person, you must know her better than anyone.”

“Why are you asking?”

“Well,” Varric said. “I’m working on a book, and I think I’m missing a character. I think your mother might fit the spot.”

“Oh,” Kieran said, adopting an expression that he was deep in thought. “She’s the inheritor of the next age.”

“I…don’t know what that means,” Varric said.

“Change is coming,” Kieran said. “She is working towards it. To prepare the world for the flames.”

“Okay,” Varric thought for a moment. “So, a mysterious, monumental goal. I can work with that. What’s she like in private? With you?”

“She’s my mother,” Kieran said, providing no further explanation. Though Varric suspected that was all Kieran could answer. Kid was barely ten years old, to him Varric supposed that was all there was to it. Yeah, that was more than enough of an answer. Kids didn’t think too deeply about what made their parents good parents. If a parent was bad, kids could think of many reasons why the parent was bad. But in the case of a good parent, a simple answer spoke volumes.

“Yeah,” Varric said. “She definitely is.”

Varric pulled out a notebook and made a few annotations with his pencil. When he looked up Kieran was watching him.

“I have a question,” Kieran said.

“Yeah?”

“What happens when Isabela visits Hawke in his mansion. Father kept skipping over pages in those parts. I tried to find the book later, to read them, but he hid it.”

“Uh…well,” Varric thought desperately for an answer. There really was no safe answer here was there? “I think your parents would prefer if I didn’t tell you that until you’re older.”

Kieran frowned. Then realization spread over his face. “Oh, it’s like when Mother and Father locked the door to their room.”

“Uh,” Varric coughed. “Have they had that talk with you then?”

Kieran shook his head. “No. But they make a lot of noise then. I asked one time what they do. Mother blushed a lot, and Father couldn’t stop laughing. They didn’t make so much noise after that.”

Varric laughed. The joys of trying to maintain an active sex life while raising a child. Not something he aspired to. But it could make for some good comedy. 

“At the end of the book,” Kieran said. “Why did so many mages become abominations? Mother taught me how to fight them off, why would the mages willingly take in spirits like that?”

Varric sighed. “Can’t say I really know. They were forced into a corner by…everything that happened.” A thought occurred to Varric. “Tell me, your father, he’s the Warden Commander of Ferelden.”

Kieran nodded.

“What did he think, when he got to the part at the end, with Anders?” Varric wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know. He’d known Anders only after he had been possessed by Justice. But from everything he heard Anders used to be a great deal different before that. He didn’t think he could ever forgive the mage for what he had done. But, part of him wanted to know, what of those that had known him before, but did not know what became of him afterwards?

“He…” Kieran hesitated. “He stopped reading the book for days. He didn’t tell me why. He told other stories still. But, nothing about the book. One night, I heard him and mother talking. He told her he blamed himself for what happened.”

“He blamed himself?” Varric couldn’t imagine why the Hero of Ferelden would think himself responsible for what Anders and Justice did to the chantry. “Why?”

“I don’t know. He told mother something about that he should have stopped Anders and Justice from joining together.”

“Wait… He KNEW Justice?” Varric suddenly leaned forward in his chair. 

“I think so?” Kieran said, taken aback. “It sounded like he did.”

Varric leaned back in his chair. Beyond mentioning once that he knew the Hero of Ferelden in Amaranthine, Anders had not shared any details about his past as a Grey Warden. He’d never told anyone how he and Justice became one. But from what he was hearing now…

“Sounds like there’s a story there,” Varric muttered. “A lot of people I know would have some questions for your father.”

“If they can get him to talk I want to hear too,” Kieran said. “He never told much about the Blight. Mother told me not to ask him anymore.”

“Yeah,” Varric said. “I can imagine that wasn’t a pleasant time in his life. Well, I had better get back to work.” He smiled at Kieran. “Thanks, you helped me out of a slump there.”

Kieran stood up. “You’re welcome?” He then wandered off.

Varric had to admit, the story was starting to take the proper form. Now he knew where his B Story could go. Unexpected aid from a mysterious witch who also happened to be a doting mother. Yeah, he hadn’t seen anyone else try that before. It should work.

He reached over to grab his pen, remembering the ink splotches on the table that had now dried into the wood. Varric cursed.

—-

The rocking horse was coming along nicely. Blackwall considered that all that was needed was a coating of varnish, to protect the delicate carvings, and it would be ready to play with. Who would receive it he had not yet decided. He put down his tools, and reached for the bucket of varnish. As he turned, he saw a young boy watching him, an intent expression on his face. 

“Yes?” Blackwall asked.

“You’re not a Grey Warden.”

Blackwall froze. But he hadn’t told anyone… “I… What are you talking about?”

The boy stepped closer. Blackwall recognized him. The Inquisition’s arcane advisor’s son, Kieran. 

“You wear Grey Warden armor,” Kieran said. “You say you’re a Grey Warden. But you don’t have the taint inside you.”

“You…how do you know that?”

“I can sense it,” Kieran said, his right hand drifting up to the medallion across his chest. Blackwall started when he noticed the Silver Wings of Valor. “I could sense it in Father. It was always there, in the blood, lurking, waiting for the last song to begin. Slowly spreading corruption, heeding to the calls of the last Old Ones…”

“Enough!” Blackwall cried, startling Kieran, who had gone into a trance. “Maker’s breath. Enough!”

Kieran frowned, shaking his head. Standing as if unsure how he had gotten so close to Blackwall.

“So,” Blackwall said, looking around to make sure no one else was in the stables. “You know my secret then. What are you going to do?”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Kieran said. “You help a lot of people. Pretending to be a Warden is better for you than the truth. A warden isn’t the taint. A warden is a promise, father said. You’re lucky you don’t have the taint. You can keep helping for much longer.”

With that, Kieran turned and left, leaving a shaken Blackwall behind. He covered the varnish, and left the stables. His nerves were shot, he needed a drink. 

In the tavern, sitting by himself in a corner, Blackwall was able to avoid Iron Bull because the Qunari and his chargers were having a drinking competition. Blackwall needed to think. How…a child that could sense the taint. How was that possible? He didn’t know much about the boy, beyond the fact that he was the son of the witch Morrigan and the Hero of Ferelden, Aedan Cousland. A name that even a fake warden like himself held in high regards. He had done what no other warden had done, ended a Blight within a year. At best past Blights had lasted for years, and yet two wardens and a small group of allies had saved the whole world in the midst of political turmoil. Blackwall had always thought, if ever there was a Grey Warden to look up to, to aspire to be more like, Aedan Cousland was that warden.

And here his son was, claiming to be able to sense the taint. Knowing that Blackwall was not what he claimed to be. That shouldn’t be possible, or was it? Blackwall knew relatively little about Grey Warden lore, not having ever been initiated into the order. He knew that Grey Wardens had a hard time conceiving children, that much was fairly well known. But perhaps the children of wardens inherited some kind of abilities from their parents? Could someone sense the taint without being infected by the taint? Perhaps the child of a warden inherited some of the warden benefits without the negative side effects? It made as much sense as anything else, and he had little to compare his theory to.

After several drinks Blackwall was able to distract himself from his speculating. Under the comfortable warm fuzz of alcohol it hardly seemed to matter, and his mind was able to drift to other thoughts. It occurred to him that the Hero of Ferelden was a Cousland. Important family in Ferelden. If he remember right. Most of them were killed by the former Arl of Amaranthine at the beginning of the Fifth Blight. 

The thought caused Blackwall’s stomach to freeze. The warm fuzz had fled as memories assaulted him. He tried to resist them.

I am not that man. I haven’t been that man in years. He was only following orders. I was only following orders. I…

It had been years since the last time. He had thought of the event. He took deep breaths. Trying to stop his mind from spiraling out of control. Last time he had found himself repeating his mantra for an hour before someone had found him and unwittingly interrupted his train of thought. 

He cursed his inebriated state. He shouldn’t have. It was harder to keep his mind centered when he’d had too much to drink. He normally kept himself under his limit. Normally drank with friends, distractions from what lurked in his mind. But his secret coming out, he had been foolish. Just this once shouldn’t have been a problem. But it was. 

Voices at a nearby table broke through his self destructive concentration. His mind screamed at him to ignore them, enticed him, just one more time, just one more time and I’ll believe what you say. Blackwall pushed the thought aside, and focused on the people talking.

“Have you heard,” One of the voices, with a thick Orlesian accent, was saying. “They’ve found a lead on one of the men responsible for the Callier Massacre?”

Blackwall froze. He wanted to run. But…he had to hear what the news was. 

“I hadn’t,” the second man said. “Did they say who it was?”

“No,” the first man said. “My contact in the guards did not have the name. But he said it was one of the soldiers. Not their captain.”

“A pity,” the second man said. “That man deserves to hang. Wherever he is, it is too good a fate for him.”

Blackwall stood. So they had not apprehended the man. He wondered which one it was. Montaigne? Du Lac? Mornay? How many of his men still lived? How many had been executed since he ran? He had lost count.

He left the tavern, ignoring Iron Bull who called out to him as he passed. His soldier had not been caught. Not yet at least. It was only a matter of time. Just one more. Then he could put it behind himself. 

The treacherous part of his brain, in full effect thanks to the faculty numbing property of alcohol, whispered that he would never be free of this guilt. Even if he lived to be a hundred.


	10. Skyhold Pranks Origins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the first of a three part storyline, Sera sets a prank on Vivienne and Kieran is caught in the crossfire.

Vivienne had left with the Inquisitor on personal business. Giving Sera access to the secluded area of the fortress that Vivienne liked to inhabit. The area was fairly open, but it gave Vivienne enough privacy, as most people avoided the area to afford her that privacy. 

Which gave Sera the privacy she needed to plant a stink bomb directly under Viv’s couch. Vivienne, who normally stuck to her usual snooty put downs, had gone too far this time. Sera did not know why the mage had snapped the way she did. But whatever was bugging her needed a quick kick in the pants. And Sera knew only one way to shake someone out of self obsession. 

The only problem was, how to set it off. Sera had considered some kind of trip wire, maybe rig it up so that the whole thing dropped from where she had placed it when Vivienne sat down. But nah, too elaborate. Maybe she could cut out a bit, fit it in under a slat, so that when Vivienne sat down the glass vial was crushed. Nah that wouldn’t work. There was no stable way to set it, vials could fall and break before Vivienne ever sat down…

Sera shivered. She had an uncomfortable feeling in the back of her neck, like what she felt whenever they were near a rift. She turned around…

Ugh, it was that creepy kid. Sera had never actually talked to him before, but his mother was creepy. And so he was just as creepy. The thought that someone had a kid with an apostate made Sera shiver. It didn’t help that Morrigan was pretty phenomenally gorgeous. Like something designed to be so gorgeous that it lured you in. And then it was too late.

“What do you want?” She snapped. Kid was giving her the creeps, the way he was looking around, but didn’t seem to be looking at what was actually there. How did that happen? What else would he be looking at?

Kieran focused on Sera. “I was just looking,” he said, with a belligerent tone to match Sera’s. “I never get to come up here.”

Sera snorted. “Yeah, Viv would see you off right away.”

“She doesn’t scare me.” Kieran frowned, crossing his arms and positioning his legs in a wide stance.

“Sure she doesn’t.” Sera stood up, holding the vial of stink gas in her hands. She still was not sure how to rig it, and having the kid staring at her wasn’t helping her think.

“What are you doing?” Kieran asked, looking at the vial in Sera’s hands.

“Trying to set up a prank,” Sera said. “You’re not helping with your questions.”

“Why are you pranking her?”

“Because, she’s a…butt,” Sera corrected herself. She wasn’t sure why she bothered censoring her language. But you couldn’t just go swearing at a kid, even if he was the creepy son of a creepy apostate witch.

“She’s…” Kieran paused, trying to make sense of what Sera had said. “You mean she has a butt? Why would you prank her because she has a butt?”

“No, no,” Sera waved her hands, almost losing her grip on her vial. “I mean she’s an…look, she’s just really annoying, right? Got a stick up her…uh… Well she needs to loosen up, yeah?” Sera gestured towards the couch. “So a little prank, break her public image, get her to loosen up some more.”

“Oh,” Kieran said. “What are you going to do?”

Sera, at war with herself over wanting to explain her idea against not wanting to talk to the kid—well, he seemed all right, hadn’t done anything creepy since they started talking—gave in after just a few moments. 

“Okay, see,” she held out the glass vial, yanking it away when Kieran reached for it. “Don’t touch. See this here is a stink bomb. Two vials inside, break the gas, the liquids combine, turn into a cloud of stink. Smells like real bull…dung. I set it up so that when Vivienne sits down they break, cloud of stink, Vivienne goes running across the hall stinking like a dog’s bad business. Everyone laughs, she’s angry, when she calms down she laughs a bit too. Everyone wins.”

“How are you going to set it up?” Kieran asked, looking at the couch.

“Well there’s the problem, I need it to break only when she sits down. And I can’t figure out how to set it up so that it only breaks when she sits down. Don’t have any way to do that without it probably falling out too early.”

Kieran knelt down by the couch, bending to look under it. “I could probably set it up under this slat, she’d sit down and break it.”

“I know that,” Sera said, kneeling down next to Kieran, pointing at the slat. “But it could fall off from there, the slat isn’t big enough to hold it safely.”

“I know a spell,” Kieran said, standing up. “It could hold the vials in place until she sat down.” He reached out for the vial.

“Whoa,” Sera, bolted up, scrambling out of Kieran’s reach. “You’re a mage? Frigg!”

“What’s wrong with that?” Kieran asked, a hurt expression on his face.

“Well, you’re just a kid, right?” Sera said, inching away from Kieran. “How do I know you won’t go all mage crazy and blow up or something?”

“Why would I do that?” Kieran asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Well you could! You’re like ten, how much control do you really have? And you can’t trust magic!”

“Magic isn’t scary,” Kieran said. “Why are you so afraid?”

“Yes it is!” Sera yelled, waving her hands around in emphasis. “Demons and all that rubbish! Throwing fire around! What’s a normal person supposed to do with all that?”

“But magic isn’t like that at all,” Kieran said. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Sera said. “Well it could blow me into little pieces, couldn’t it? It’s dangerous.”

“A bow is dangerous,” Kieran said. “If someone doesn’t know how to use it, or doesn’t use it safely. They could accidentally hit someone they didn’t mean to.”

“Well, it’s not the same!”

“But what if you miss with your arrows? You’re just as dangerous as a mage then, to whomever you hit.”

“I don’t miss,” Sera said, bristling at the implication that she could.

“Mother has enough power to level the whole fortress,” Kieran said. “But she doesn’t. Just like you don’t miss. It’s no more dangerous than anything else dangerous, if you do it wrong.”

“Well, you’re just a kid!” Sera yelled. “How do I know you won’t get it wrong?”

“Mother taught me,” Kieran said. “She taught me how to control my power.”

“Well…”

“And what, exactly, is going on here?”

Sera turned, haltingly, mechanically, to see Vivienne in her stupid horny hat, arms crossed across her chest, foot tapping in the manner that suggested she would not like the answer, no matter what it was. She glanced from Sera to Kieran, to the vial in Sera’s hand. 

“Has your philosophical discussion interrupted your ill conceived prank?” Vivienne said, nodding towards the vial in Sera’s hand. “I’m assuming some kind of stink bomb, meant to go off when I sat down? And what was that I heard about using magic to hold it in place?”

Something in Sera snapped. “Oh yeah? Well…”

She tossed the vials at the ground right before Vivienne’s feet and made a run for it. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Kieran, who had been inching away when Vivienne appeared, make a break for the stairs on the opposite side of the hall. Vivienne’s scream of rage followed Sera as she vaulted down the stairs. 

—-

The Iron Bull was in his usual spot when the door to the tavern swung open. He glanced towards the door out of habit, and was moderately surprised to see a kid standing there, looking around with wide eyes. The kid hesitated, then from behind him came a faint yell of rage, and the kid ducked into the tavern, dodging around patrons and finally coming to a spot where he was relatively well hidden. Also he happened to be right next to Bull, who glanced over at the kid with a raised eyebrow.

Some of his questions were answered when Vivienne, her hat askew, stormed through the doors. The patrons near the door all shied back, which at first Bull assumed was because of her furious expression. As she turned to see him, and stalked over, Bull realized why a path was actually clearing for her.

“Have you seen them?” Vivienne asked, glaring at Bull as he pinched his nose shut.

“Seen who?” Bull asked, his voice a nasal high pitch as he tried to both speak and breath through his mouth.

“Sera,” Vivienne said. “And that witch’s brat!”

“Uh…” Bull resisted the urge to glance towards the kid’s hiding spot. “No?”

Vivienne cursed, and turned towards the stairs, heading towards the second level where Sera’s room was. 

“I don’t think she’s up there,” Bull said, releasing his nose as Vivienne walked away. The stench was still intense, but with the source gone he could at least breathe again.

Vivienne stalked up the stairs nonetheless. There was a moment of silence, broken only by the sounds of chairs being scraped against the floor as patrons ducked out of the tavern. 

“Is she gone?” The kid peeked up from his hiding spot. 

“Yeah,” Bull said. “What did you do to her?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Kieran protested.

“Oh?” Bull said. “So she’s chasing you, covered in stink bomb residue if my nose doesn’t deceive me, and you did nothing?”

“Wasn’t my prank,” Kieran muttered.

“Lemme guess, Sera’s idea?” 

“Yes,” Kieran said. “I was just suggesting how to make the prank work.”

Bull laughed. “And she left you behind when she escaped did she?”

“We both ran at the same time,” Kieran said. He stepped out from his hiding spot completely, glancing nervously towards the stairs. When he turned back to Bull he looked at him, intently.

“What’s up?” Bull asked. Most people in Skyhold knew about the kid. And it was true what he’d heard from the others. Kid had a way of looking at you that made you uncomfortable down in your marrow.

“You have very interesting horns,” Kieran said. “Do other Qunari have the same kind?”

“Nah,” Bull said. “These are unique. Most Qunari have the swept back behind the head kind of horns. I’m the only one I know of that has horns that stick out to the side like this.”

“You have them because of your blood,” Kieran said. “It’s very old, but it doesn’t belong to you.”

Bull frowned. “Strange thing to say. There’s legend that Qunari have dragon blood in us, going way back to before we can remember. How would you know about that?”

“He says you are kin,” Kieran said.

“He?”

There was a crash from upstairs, the sound of Sera yelling. Kieran’s head snapped up to gaze fearfully at the second floor. 

“You’d better run along to your mother,” Bull said. “Viv is on the warpath, wouldn’t want to be caught in the crossfire there.”

Kieran bolted towards the door, just as Vivienne, without Sera, could be heard tromping towards the stairs. Bull stood up, against his better judgement, deciding to see if he couldn’t delay Vivienne for at least a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize, this is a bit shorter than my usual chapters, but I'm going to be gone over the weekend so I'm posting it a bit earlier, and a bit shorter than I normally would. I might post the second part of this three parter earlier next week, and then the third part on Sunday when the normal updates happen. We'll have to see how things go.


	11. Skyhold Pranks 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kieran continues to flee from Vivienne's wrath, coming across other members of the Inquisition he has not yet spoken to along the way.

Lace Harding was about to open the door to the tavern, having just returned from scouting detail out in the Western Approach, when the door slammed open, hitting her in the face and almost knocking her to the floor.

A boy came running out, he ran past Lace, paused, and turned around.

“Sorry!” He yelped. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, what…” From inside the sound of Iron Bull’s voice, interrupted by Madame Vivienne’s sharp tones. Lace saw as the boy’s eyes widened. 

“Sorry!” He cried, and ran towards the keep. 

Madame Vivienne stepped out the door, followed by Iron Bull, who seemed to be trying to calm her down. Vivienne looked around, striding over when she noticed Lace.

“Did you see where he went?” Vivienne asked.

“I…” Lace started to say, unable to continue when she saw Iron Bull frantically shaking his head. “I don’t know?”

Vivienne snarled, and took off, heading towards the keep. Iron Bull stepped in front of her.

“Vivienne, don’t you think you’re overreacting just a little?”

Madame de Fer did not say anything, she only looked up at Bull. Lace could not see Vivienne’s face, but she could see Bull’s face go pale. He stepped aside. 

“What happened?” Lace asked, turning to Iron Bull once Vivienne had left.

“Prank gone wrong,” Iron Bull said, shaking his head. “Kid was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And giving the wrong advice for a prank when the wrong person was there to hear it.”

“Oh,” Lace said. “Shouldn’t we do something?”

“Kid’s gone to find his mother,” Bull said. “Can’t think of anyone better to protect him from Viv’s wrath.”

“She seemed out of sorts,” Lace said. “Madame de Fer I mean.”

“Yeah,” Bull said. “I’ve never seen her lose it like this over one of Sera’s pranks. And to be this angry at a kid. Something must have happened.”

—-

Cullen was reading in the garden, unsteady hands holding the book as he tried to keep his mind off the box in his desk. The words were blurring together, unable to distract him from the cravings, the voice in his head overriding any comprehension or attempts at distracting himself. He kept as calm an outward appearance as possible, it wouldn’t do to let the people of the Inquisition see their Commander show weakness. He would have gone back to his room, where he could suffer the cravings in private. But he did not trust himself to be alone. Better to risk being seen as weak, if it meant avoiding the call of the box.

The sound of light, rapidly approaching footsteps jolted Cullen back to awareness. He looked up just in time to see Lady Morrigan’s son, Kieran, run into the garden. He stopped at the spot where Morrigan usually spent her time, looking around frantically. Kieran noticed him, and walked over towards Cullen, who set his book aside. 

“Have,” Kieran started, panting, out of breath. “Have you seen my mother?”

“I think she is in the library,” Cullen said, wincing just a little. Even while talking distracted him from himself, it was getting harder not to show the effects of his cravings. Kieran was looking around towards the entrance to the gardens, nervously. But when Cullen winced he turned back to look at the older man.

“Are you okay?” Kieran asked. 

“I’m fine,” Cullen lied.

“You’re not taking the lyrium,” Kieran said. “It’s hurting you.”

“Who told you that?” Cullen asked, he had only told Cassandra and Maxwell, and he knew neither of them would have told a soul. He supposed Leliana could have found out, she always found everything out eventually, but he could not imagine that she would have told anyone herself. Especially not a child.

“Nobody,” Kieran said. “I can see you don’t have as much in your blood anymore. Your body needs it now.”

“You can sense the lyrium in me?” Cullen asked, amazement somewhat replacing the throbbing ache. “That’s quite the ability. You’d make an impressive Templar. Or a Seeker.”

“I can’t,” Kieran said. “They lyrium gives me terrible headaches. And mother wouldn’t like it if I became a Seeker.”

“Well, consider yourself lucky,” Cullen said, as another wave swept through him. “That you’ll never have to worry about what comes afterwards.”

Kieran looked like he wanted to say something, but they heard the sounds of more approaching footsteps, and he ran off. Cullen looked towards footsteps. Vivienne had entered the garden and was casting her gaze around it. She violently shook her head and turned around.

Cullen, left wondering what had just happened, found that somehow his lyrium cravings weren’t quite so important anymore. He stood up, intent on finding out what exactly had just happened. 

—-

Morrigan sighed, putting aside yet another useless tome. Worth reading in the future, but not relevant to her current pursuit.

“I know,” a voice next to her said. “The selection here is simply dreadful.”

Morrigan turned to see Dorian Pavus standing next to her, perusing the books on the next shelf over. 

“Truly,” she said. “And requisitions take so long to arrive.”

“If they ever do arrive,” Dorian said, turning to face Morrigan. “Tell me, your son was in here not too long ago. He had the strangest questions about Tevinter. Seems like an odd topic for one of his age. A flattering one as far as I am concerned, most don’t take the time to really learn about my homeland beyond, ‘They started the blights and the whole entire country is run by blood mages.’ So I was a little curious, however, how that topic came about.”

Morrigan shrugged. She suspected why Kieran had been researching Tevinter. Odd, and troubling that he had not mentioned that to her. “Tis simply that I wish my son to have the best education I can afford him. Relying on chantry approved topics is hardly in the interest of that goal.”

“How open minded,” Dorian said. “Though I suspect that shouldn’t have come as a surprise.”

“You would be a fool to be surprised,” Morrigan chuckled.

They continued their respective searches for a while.

“You know,” Dorian said. “Your son is lucky to have you.”

Morrigan raised an eyebrow, looking over at Dorian. “He could do much better than having me for a mother. Why the sudden compliment?”

“You give yourself too little credit,” Dorian said. “Raising a mage child, in southern societies, all the while being an apostate. It takes a great deal of dedication to do that.”

“Tis hardly remarkable,” Morrigan said, pulling a book out from the shelf, examining the cover, and putting it back with a sigh. “Keeping a child safe tis but the bare minimum expected of a parent, is it not? I have hardly done anything remarkable.”

“Sometimes the bare minimum alone is remarkable,” Dorian muttered. “Tell me, would you try and use blood magic to change him if he turned out other than you expected?”

Morrigan turned away from the shelf she was examining, eyes wide, face uncharacteristically twisted into a horrified expression. “Never!” She cried.

“Well there you go,” Dorian said. “That makes you a significantly better parent than one I could name.”

Morrigan frowned at Dorian. She had heard rumors of the mage’s past with his family. The thought of turning against a child in the manner his father had her thinking of her own mother.

“I know how that must feel,” Morrigan said.

“Do you?” Dorian quirked an eyebrow, though from what little she could read from his face Morrigan knew she was in dangerous territory. No one liked when others assumed they knew their pain. “Do you really?”

“Well, I do not know if what my mother planned involved blood magic precisely,” Morrigan said, quietly. “But I did discover a lost tome of hers that detailed how she had raised me for the sole purpose of stealing my body once her own had grown too decrepit. So yes, I can somewhat relate to what it must feel like.”

“Oh,” Dorian said. “That must have come as a shock.”

“Somewhat, yes,” Morrigan said. “But it was hardly as if she had raised me with love and care, she had a specific purpose in mind for me. Anything not in the pursuit of that purpose was irrelevant. At best I received indifference from her. At worst…”

“I see,” Dorian said. 

“I cannot say,” Morrigan said, turning to Dorian. “What your relationship with your family was like before what happened. But, if at any point they treated you like their true child, consider that more than some have received. Sometimes mistakes are made out of love, and tis a terrible thing. But tis far better than something done out of deliberate, cruel intention.”

“I,” Dorian started to say. “I suppose you do know how it feels.”

“Indeed,” Morrigan said. 

“And yet you raised a well adjusted boy,” Dorian said. “If nothing else, your mother provided an excellent example of what not to do.”

Morrigan laughed. “She did at that. Kieran is fortunate enough to have at least his father who was raised by a loving family and knows how to do more than not be a bad parent.”

Dorian smiled. “Yes, he his lucky, but for more reasons than I imagine you are willing to admit.”

“If you insist,” Morrigan said. And with the conversation done she turned back to her examination of the bookshelves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there you lucky people. Because the previous chapter and this one are short, the next one is also short, I’m posting this chapter halfway before I normally would, because nothing is worse than a great fanfiction that has a consistent schedule but posts chapters that are too short to really feel satisfying. So, hope you enjoyed.


	12. Skyhold Pranks Inquisition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The confrontation with Vivienne comes to a head.

Solas had his paint out and was adding some finishing touches to his mural, when the sound of hurrying steps caused him to look up. He quirked an eyebrow as he saw Kieran come to a stop in the room, breathless, but paused in his hurry as he looked around the walls. 

“Hello,” Solas said. He set his paint aside, and walked towards the boy. He had not yet spoken with Kieran, though he had on occasion gotten into an argument with Morrigan. 

“Hello,” Kieran said, turning to face Solas. Outside, in the throne room, came the sound of rushing feet. Kieran looked like he was about to bolt, but the feet passed by Solas’ room and faded.

Solas quirked an eyebrow. “You are avoiding unwanted pursuit it appears?” Kieran nodded. “Well, they seem to have passed by.”

Kieran nodded, then turned around to look at the murals. “Did you paint these?” He asked.

“I did,” Solas said.

“It’s everything that’s happened?”

“Correct,” Solas said. “I am impressed, you can read them?”

Kieran nodded. “Mother had me study elven fresco paintings,” he said. 

“Ah yes,” Solas said. “She considers herself something of an expert on elven culture, does she not?”

Kieran shrugged. “She knows as much as anyone can know,” he said. “As much as can be found.”

“Has she said what she intends to do with that knowledge?”

“Preserve it,” Kieran said. “So that it survives what is to come.”

Solas frowned. “I see,” he said. “Has she taught you much of this? Actually, how much has she taught you?” Solas was curious. He knew Morrigan liked to play the expert, and to a certain extent she was quite knowledgeable, scrapping around in the dust for clues while never seeing the answers that lay in the sky. 

“She teaches me everything,” Kieran said. “About magic, the fade, spirits.”

“Oh? And what does she teach you about spirits?” Solas asked.

“That they are beings of thought. And that they can be learned from, if treated with caution and approached properly,” Kieran said.

“A refreshing viewpoint,” Solas said. “I am impressed. Most, even those not of the chantry, fear spirits and consider them demons.”

“Only if you bring your own demons to them,” Kieran said.

“Yes, I suppose that is quite true,” Solas said.

The sound of rapidly approaching footsteps returned. Kieran spun around to the door, just as Vivienne appeared in it. 

“There you are!” She yelled. 

Kieran bolted for the stairs. Vivienne began to give pursuit. Solas stepped in front of her, blanching at the stench that hit him as she halted in front of him. 

“What is this?” He asked. 

“None of your concern,” Vivienne said. 

“I am still somewhat concerned, to see you so vehemently pursuing a child,” Solas said. “What did he do?”

Vivienne just glared and shouldered him aside, stepping towards the door leading up to the library. Solas followed after her, concerned that the Grand Enchanter, normally so in control of her emotions, would do something they would all regret. 

—-

“Mother!” Morrigan’s head snapped up as Kieran came running to her, followed closely by Madame de Fer. 

“What is this?” Morrigan asked, stepping up between Vivienne and Kieran, who slipped behind her back. Morrigan stopped, as if she had run into a solid wall, as Vivienne approached. “Stop.” Morrigan said, holding up a single hand. “No closer please.”

Behind her Dorian made a sound. “What is that stench?”

“Your brat!” Vivienne yelled, pointing at Morrigan. 

Morrigan’s normally cool composure snapped. Before anyone could react she had stepped in front of Vivienne and hit her across the face with the back of her hand. Vivienne staggered, glaring at Morrigan and was about to lunge at her, when Cullen, who had come up the stairs, followed closely by Solas, stepped between them.

“Careful there,” Cullen said, holding his hands palms forward towards the two mages. Morrigan mentally commended the former Templar for his courage. He would have been roasted before he could defend himself if either she or Vivienne were inclined to do so. “What is going on here? Madame de Fer, this is hardly like you.”

Vivienne stood, taking a step back away from Cullen, back straight, glaring at Morrigan.

“Yes,” Morrigan said. “I for one would be interested in knowing where this failure of a mage gets the gall to insult my son.”

“He,” Vivienne snarled. “And Sera, were setting a prank for me, when I came upon them. He was going to use his magic to set up the prank. When I confronted them Sera threw her stink bomb at me.”

There was a round of understanding nods from almost everyone present. Morrigan laughed and shook her head.

“Then speak to the girl,” Morrigan said. “But stay away from my son.”

“I have already dealt with Sera,” Vivienne said. “But that boy was about to abuse his magic, for a pathetic prank!”

“And?” Morrigan said, her own mind traveling to the pin prick riddled effigy of Alistair she had lost somewhere along the way. “Tis just a prank. You are truly overreacting.”

“If you have taught him to abuse his magic like this,” Vivienne said. “Then for his own sake and the safety of everyone in the fortress he needs to be taken to a circle to be given a proper education in magic.”

Ice filled Morrigan’s stomach, the skin around her eyes tightened. Thoughts of Templars stealing Kieran away from her filled her mind with a bloodlust she had not felt in a long time. Her hands raised of their own accord, cold air filling them and enveloping her forearms. 

“Now see here,” Dorian said, stepping between Morrigan and Vivienne. “That is hardly your place to say.”

Morrigan stepped around Dorian, the momentary interruption giving her the time needed to calm her mind. 

“I am more than adept at teaching my son to control his powers,” she said. “Just as I did not need some chantry approved fool to teach me to control my magic. And if you ever suggest taking my son away from me, I will show you just how inadequate your circle training truly was.”

Vivienne bristled. She was about to retort when Leliana came down from the rookery.

“What is all this noise?” Leliana asked.

Morrigan and Vivienne were too busy glaring at each other, so in their place Cullen explained what had happened. When he reached the part where Vivienne had said Kieran should be taken to a circle of magi, Leliana’s eyes widened in shock. 

“It’s only for the best of everyone involved!” Vivienne said. “This barbarian obviously isn’t capable of teaching responsibility…”

“Drop it,” Leliana said, her voice cold. Vivienne stared at her in shock.

“You cannot possibly think that it is right for the boy to be raised outside a properly structured circle?”

“I’ve seen what happens in circles,” Leliana said. “Even when they are not being overrun by abominations and blood mages. So yes, I can very well think that a circle is the last place I would allow anyone to send Kieran.”

Morrigan raised an eyebrow in surprise. She knew there was no love lost between her and Leliana, their attempts at reconciliation aside. Still, Leliana had always been a loyal friend of Aedan’s, so she had at least half a reason to defend Kieran.

“If properly overseen…” Vivienne started to say.

“Just drop it,” Leliana said. “You will only invite disaster on your own head if you pursue this. And that is only if the boy’s father does not find out that you were suggesting his son be taken away to a circle.”

“And what could he possibly do?” Vivienne asked.

Morrigan laughed. “Do you think yourself mightier than an archdemon? Or have you perhaps the combined magical skills of dozens of blood mages and abominations? If not then I would not bet on your chances.”

“Archdemon?” Vivienne asked. “What are you…” Morrigan could see the moment that Vivienne put two and two together. She was surprised, as Madame de Fer barely showed any outward sign of realization, beyond a slight widening of her eyes and a surreptitious glance towards Kieran.

“Ah, now she understands,” Morrigan said, chuckling. She stepped away from Vivienne, placing a comforting hand on Kieran’s shoulder, who was watching the argument with wide, fearful eyes.

“What is all the noise?” Maxwell appeared at the head of the stairs leading from the throne room. “Was there a meeting scheduled I didn’t know about?”

“It’s nothing, Inquisitor,” Vivienne said stiffly. “Just a disagreement.” She turned and walked out through the side door of the library towards her balcony. Maxwell watched her leave, a confused expression on his face. He turned back to face the group.

“Would anyone care to explain what just happened?”

—-

“Now,” Morrigan said, as she led Kieran into their quarters. “I will not say you are not to use your magic for pranks. However, perhaps t’would be best to avoid directly antagonizing that woman. Her foolish grasping at the chantry’s rules and edicts seems to make her unstable.”

“It wasn’t my fault, mother,” Kieran said. “Sera was the one playing the prank. I was just looking around.”

“So you did not suggest using magic for the prank?”

Kieran fidgeted, looking down at the ground.

“Kieran,” Morrigan said.

“Just a little,” Kieran admitted finally. “I don’t know how she heard.”

Morrigan sighed. It was moments like this that she hated most. With all her heart she applauded mischievous uses of magic, she had made a terror of herself amongst Aedan’s companions more than once. And upon lost travelers attempting to traverse her swamp. She could not in good faith tell her son not to do the same. And yet, the motherly part of her was scolding her natural reaction, and wanted to scold Kieran.

“Tis so unlike you,” Morrigan said. “That is all.”

Kieran shrugged. “I didn’t go to prank her. It wasn’t even my idea. It’s just that Sera couldn’t do the prank on her own, I was only trying to help.”

Morrigan sighed. “How like your father, trying to help everyone around you no matter the consequences.”

“Really?” Kieran perked up. “Am I like him?”

“Oh, well enough to give me just as big a headache as he does,” Morrigan laughed. She could not help herself, the bright look in Kieran’s eyes upon being compared to his father was the most adorable thing she had ever seen. “Now, off to your studies. You have been lazing around long enough today.”

Kieran groaned.

—-

Vivienne was standing on her balcony. Within the stench still lingered somewhat, but out in the fresh air the noxious fumes had been blown away enough to breath to be drawn. Maxwell released the breath he had been holding as soon as he stepped on to the balcony.

“Inquisitor,” Vivienne said, not bothering to turn as he approached, continuing instead to look out over the mountains.

“Vivienne,” Maxwell said, stepping to lean his back against the balcony next to Vivienne. “I heard about what happened.”

“As has the entire fortress by this point,” Vivienne sighed. “It is not often that I am made a fool of and make a fool of myself.”

“It did sound like you overreacted a bit,” Maxwell said. 

“Perhaps,” Vivienne said. “But that boy would be significantly better off, and far safer, in a Circle.”

“From what I understand,” Maxwell said. “I think the Hero of Ferelden might have some choice words to say about that.”

Vivienne scoffed. “As if I care what some dog lord thinks.”

They stood in silence for several minutes. 

“I never would have thought,” Vivienne said. “That the Hero of Ferelden would have such terrible taste in women.”

“Ah,” Maxwell said. “She’s not so bad, once you get to know her.”

Vivienne scoffed again. “And I say you are delusional, my dear.”

Maxwell chuckled. “Well, I don’t quite have the reasons you do to dislike her.”

Vivienne sighed. “I really did make a fool of myself.”

Maxwell looked over at her. “You weren’t your usual self,” he said. “Not after…”

“Don’t,” Vivienne said. “That… is irrelevant to the current situation. Please. I would like to be alone for the moment, my dear.”

“Of course,” Maxwell said, pushing off from the balcony. He paused at the door. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry about Duke Bastien.”

Vivienne did not respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of this little story thread. After this we'll get back to hopefully longer chapters and a weekly update schedule again.


	13. Warden and Champion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kieran and Morrigan meet Loghain and Hawke as the two are passing through Skyhold.

Loghain had long since grown used to the stares and whispers wherever he went. In Orlais it was mostly because many remembered how instrumental he had been in their defeat during the Fereldan rebellion. When he returned to Ferelden to investigate the fake calling with Hawke, those that recognized him remembered how he had almost led their country to ruin during the Blight. This was made significantly worse by the number of pitying gazes he attracted. Many could not discern whether they hated him, or yet admired him for helping to free their country from Orlais. Very few stares were truly angry, most were confused, and thus upset. 

In Skyhold he found both stares aplenty. Though he was used to them, that did not mean that some peace and quiet was out of the question. So when he heard that there was a garden in the fortress, Loghain decided that perhaps it would provide some relative isolation. While he found that there were still many people loitering in the garden, most of them seemed focused on their own thoughts, and thus he passed unnoticed among the plants.

He had been on his feet so much that he decided he needed to sit down. Loghain searched for a seat of some kind. He found some benches, and as he drew closer he noticed a young boy sitting on one of the benches, reading from a thick book. The boy looked up from his book as Loghain approached. His eyes lit up as if from recognition, though Loghain was certain he had never seen this child before. Though, there was something oddly familiar about him.

“You’re a Grey Warden,” the boy said.

“I am,” Loghain said, chuckling. “It was the armor that gave me away, was it not?”

The boy shook his head. “No. Normal people can wear Grey Warden armor. You have the song in your blood.”

Loghain frowned. A strange thing for a child to say. And still that sense of recognition. “You seem familiar,” he said.

The boy’s face went slack, his smile did not disappear, but the boyish delight in it fled. Loghain felt like he was watching a face grow up within an instant, going from childish glee to an adult’s morose expression. His eyes went dull and he stopped blinking. His head cocked to the side.

“You were there,” he said. “At the end. When the song ceased.”

Loghain took a step back. The voice, it was the boy’s voice, but it had an otherworldly quality to it. “The end…who are you?”

A shape appeared a the child’s side, a figure Loghain had not thought to see in his lifetime again. The child jerked when the woman at his side placed a hand on her shoulder. He looked up at her, blinking. 

“Morrigan,” Loghain said, curtly. 

He had few memories of the witch, having joined the Warden’s group only towards the end of the Blight. He remembered her sharp tongue, and standoffish attitude, though he supposed that was to be expected considering he had been the cause of a great deal of misery for the group over the course of that year. He recalled that she and Aedan had a somewhat tumultuous relationship at the time. He had never bothered investigating, though it had been clear between the two of them that something was happening and neither were entirely certain what the future held.

Aedan had later confided in him the secret of his connection with the witch, told him about the child. 

“Loghain,” Morrigan said, as curt as he, before turning to the child. “Kieran, it’s time to return to your studies.”

“Again?” Kieran said. “But I was studying!”

“And for now you will return to our quarters and continue studying. I have business to attend to with yon Grey Warden.”

Kieran sighed, but obeyed his mother, picking up his book and leaving the garden. Morrigan watched the child leave, before turning to Loghain again.

“So,” Loghain said. “That’s his boy?”

“Yes,” Morrigan said. “That is Kieran. Mine and Aedan’s son.”

“I’m surprised,” Loghain said. “Aedan told me about the child. But to see him looking so normal… And yet, so strange…”

“He’s just a boy,” Morrigan said.

“Truly?” Loghain asked. “I thought the purpose was…”

“Yes,” Morrigan said. “Tis true that originally the plan to save Aedan and your life was for the soul to take possession of an empty vessel, of our child. I…had thought that he would have but one soul, that of the old god. As I understood it two souls could not co-exist in one body. And yet, somehow, my son has his own soul. I was…fortunate, that things did not turn out as I had planned. I had expected nothing but a vessel for ancient power, and instead I have a son. My own child. Aedan’s child.”

Loghain was mildly surprised at the tenderness in Morrigan’s eyes. Though he had not spent much time around her, the little he had garnered of her personality from talking to the others had painted her as a heartless woman. When he first heard about the ritual, after it had already been completed by Aedan and her, he had been horrified. The magnitude of his own crimes had not hit him until years later. But at the time, to sacrifice an innocent child in the name of self preservation…

Just as the true meaning of his support of Howe had not sunk in until later. He had never met Fergus’ family, his wife and child, but from angry accusations spat at him by a defiant Aedan in Fort Drakon of being a child murderer, seeing Aedan’s own son, the same age as his nephew was before Howe’s betrayal… Loghain had not come to truly understand until this moment. Tearful accusations of betrayal, a man who had only just a year prior been a boy, having seen the man he confessed to admiring as a hero for what he truly was. And after everything, for that man to spare him, Loghain had never understood it. And not only did he spare him, but Aedan had proven himself a good friend. Possibly the best that Loghain had ever had since Maric disappeared. Loghain had worked all these years, just to be able to do right by that man who had been a boy up until his entire world was destroyed. 

“You have grown pensive,” Morrigan said, interrupting Loghain’s thoughts.

“Just old thoughts,” Loghain said.

“They must be truly old, if they are your thoughts.”

Loghain chuckled. “Indeed.”

After some silence, Loghain spoke up. “He is lucky to have you, both of you, Aedan is.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Morrigan said. “Persistence perhaps, foolishness certainly. But never luck.”

“I suppose so,” Loghain said. “He always did make his own luck. It’s only, I think you’ve given him something no one else ever could have.”

“Hmm,” Morrigan said, a light frown on her face. “Perhaps tis so.”

“Tell me,” Loghain said. “Where is he? I am surprised he is not here with you. I have not heard from him in some time, but from his last letter, he told me he had found you.”

“He is currently away on business,” Morrigan said. “Chasing a lead that might lead to a possible cure for the taint.”

Loghain’s eyes widened. “That would be a remarkable accomplishment.”

“Remarkable accomplishments come to him as easily as breathing,” Morrigan said. “Not least of which was his ability to take a strange group such as ours and make us cooperate.”

“Or make you love him,” Loghain said.

Morrigan laughed. “Tis true, I would have denied that profusely had you said it back then. Such foolishness. All the more fool was I. He is…very easy to love.”

“I have been wondering,” Loghain said. “Perhaps you could answer, seeing as how you know him better than anyone. Why did he spare me? All those years ago. After all I had done. I thought at the time it was to avoid sacrificing himself or Alistair. But in the end he took the final blow himself, regardless of whether your ritual had worked or not, he would have died without it, or had it failed. What then was the purpose of sparing me?”

Morrigan hesitated before answering. “Twas pragmatism,” she said. “At the time he did not know that a sacrificial pawn would possibly be needed. All he knew was that wardens were needed to defeat the archdemon, thus it was wisest to have as many wardens at hand as possible. Though Alistair’s tantrum did little to help this end goal.”

“Then why spare me if he knew it was either me or Alistair?”

“To tell you truly, he later confided in me that he had hopes that sparing you, though it enraged Alistair, would entice Anora to be more cooperative in matters of ruling the kingdom, and in how she treated Alistair. My love cared about that fool’s happiness, though as far as I am concerned he hardly seems worth it.”

Loghain chuckled. “Alistair was lucky to have him as a friend. As are any of his friends.”

“Indeed,” Morrigan said. “We are all of us lucky.”

“I would hardly include myself in those numbers. Not after everything that has happened. I am hardly deserving.”

“Tis true,” Morrigan said. “You did not at the time he spared you. I can remember quite vividly the aftermath of your hospitality.” Her eyes flashed at Loghain, anger simmered in them, undimmed by the passage of time. Loghain was glad that she had not gotten her hands on him back then. 

“However," she continued. “I know that while we lived in Orlais for a time, he followed the reports of your exploits. For what it is worth, he was convinced of your sincerity.”

“That means a great deal,” Loghain said.

“Indeed,” Morrigan said. “I can appreciate the value of forgiveness. You are not the only one who has needed it.”

—-

Morrigan passed through the shortcut through the war room to the hall leading to their quarters. She had to go make sure that Kieran was actually studying. He was normally an obedient boy, quick to his studies though also quick to grow tired of them. Recently however he had taken to avoiding his studies more frequently. So it was with little surprised as Morrigan passed into the hall connecting the war room to the main hall that she found Kieran standing there, with the dwarf Varric and a man Morrigan did not recognize. 

He was tall, with shaggy black hair and a beard to match. He wore some kind of war paint, done in a streak across the bridge of his nose. The full suit of plate armor that he wore seemed strange to Morrigan, who was used to seeing Aedan’s Warden armor. This man’s armor had significantly more spikes and sharp edges on it. Useful perhaps for close quarters combat, should an enemy happen to fall upon the spikes of the armor.

Kieran looked over as Morrigan approached. He did not even look a little guilty, instead his eyes were bright and his smile was wide, in the kind of expression Morrigan found she just could not scold him for. She sighed.

“Kieran, did I not tell you to return to your studies?”

“But mother…” Kieran started to say. 

“No buts,” Morrigan said. “To your studies!”

“But it’s Hawke!”

Morrigan looked at Hawke again. So this was the man so many held in as high regard as Aedan? She sniffed. He did not seem so impressive, and what little she knew about his accomplishments, from overhearing Aedan reading that book to Kieran when he thought she was not listening, he seemed hardly deserving of the praise he received. For so many to consider Aedan and this Hawke equals irked Morrigan to no end. Almost as much as it irked her that she cared so much.

And the star struck way in which Kieran was looking at the man. When his own father was significantly more impressive than this so called “Champion”. 

“Hmmph,” Morrigan hummed. “So it is. Now back to your studies.”

Kieran sighed, but with one last regretful look he obeyed.

“Don’t you think you were a little strict with the boy,” Hawke said after Kieran had left.

“Tis no business of yours,” Morrigan said, glaring at him. 

“You are quite as I imagined you, Morrigan,” Hawke chuckled. 

“You know of me? Ah yes,” Morrigan remembered a part of the book that Aedan read to her when he came upon it. “You are the fool whom I have to thank my mother’s continued existence for.”

Hawke at least had the decency to look embarrassed. “Ah, well, she did help me and my family out…”

“Indeed,” Morrigan said. “She does that. And now I have to hide my son away from her. Well done, Champion.”

Hawke and Varric exchanged awkward glances, while Morrigan continued to glare at the two. They fidgeted nervously under her gaze. 

“You know,” Hawk said, perking up. “There is one thing that I have been meaning to ask you.”

“And that is?” Morrigan asked, frostily.

“Isabela,” Hawke said. “My, uh, lover, she said that she she’d met you and the Hero of Ferelden in Denerim, during the Blight.”

Morrigan showed no signs of recognition. Next to Hawke Varric’s expression fell. 

“Hawke,” he said. “If you’re about to ask what I think you’re going to ask…”

“Relax,” Hawke said. “She said you called her a ‘Woman who reeks of sweat and tar’.”

“Ah yes,” Morrigan said, her eyes narrowing. She could not forget that incident so easily.

“So is it true,” Hawke said, while Varric groaned. “That he and she, and a greased nug…”

—-

Maxwell had gone all out for the picnic. The grove where he and Cassandra had consummated their relationship for the first time had become a favorite get away spot for the lovers. It was secluded, relatively warm, and made for the perfect spot for an intimate picnic. The food had been quite good, but ultimately the two moved on to their dessert. The kind that was eaten without clothes on.

The two were in the middle of a very sensitive position when an explosion ripped through the air, causing Cassandra to flail out in surprise, punching Maxwell in the face on accident.

“Oww!” Maxwell yelped.

“What was that?” Cassandra cried. 

“My eye!”

"Not that! The explosion!”

“Obviously it was an explosion!” Maxwell yelled.

“No,” Cassandra said. "I mean where did it come from?”

“I think it came from Skyhold,” Maxwell said. The two of them exchanged a glance, then leapt to their feet, grabbing their weapons and what clothes they could gather as they rushed back towards Skyhold.

—-

Hawke and Varric stood, covered in soot and dust, before the Inquisitor, who was wearing nothing but a pair of pants and his sword belt, and was tapping his foot on the one patch of floor that was not covered in rubble. Next to them what had once been a small hole under eternal repair was now a gaping hole in the wall from which bits of stone would fall, loosened by whatever had caused the destruction and fall into the depths of the mountains below. Cassandra was staring out the hole, her eyes examining the scorch marks along the edges. The Inquisition advisers were all gathered, alternating between staring at the hole and Hawke and Varric.

“So,” Maxwell said. “Explain again. Why is there a giant hole in my fortress? And why are the two of you covered in soot?”

Behind him Cullen muttered, “I’m having flashbacks to Kirkwall.”

"It's not my fault,” Hawke said. “I was just trying to confirm a story I’d heard.”

"I told you Rivaini was yanking your chain,” Varric said.

“So you asked Morrigan,” Maxwell said. “A powerful apostate, if it was true that her husband had a threesome with your girlfriend and a greased nug?"

Leliana laughed. Maxwell looked over his shoulder at his advisors, trying to find some support from them that this was not actually happening. Cullen had his eyes raised to the ceiling, while Josephine was glancing to the side, hiding her face behind her writing board, though not enough to conceal the furious blush covering her cheeks. Leliana’s shoulders were shaking as she tried to stifle any further laughs. 

He looked at Cassandra, who was glaring at Hawke and Varric, shaking her head.

“Well, to be fair,” Hawke said. “Isabela kept insisting it was true. It was really bugging me. And Morrigan never answered my question.”

“So Rivaini lied to you,” Varric said. “That’s hardly surprising. At least this time no one got hurt.”

“Except for my wall!” Maxwell yelled, throwing his arms into the air in frustration.

“I can confirm that it never happened,” Leliana said. “I was there. At most she flirted with him but gave up very quick when Morrigan looked like she was about to set her hair on fire. I had been wondering where those rumors were coming from. The last one I heard included Empress Celene and Queen Anora in the rumor.”

“You mean the one about Queen Anora wasn’t true?” Josephine asked. “I had heard they were quite close.”

“Well,” Leliana said. “It’s true that she is his type…”

“His type?”

“Powerful and duplicitous.”

“Ah.”

“I’ve heard versions that include you in the mix, Sister Nightingale,” Hawke supplied.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise, while Maxwell could have sworn that he heard Leliana muttering something that sounded shockingly like, “I wish.” He stared at her, while Josephine had a scandalized expression on her face.

“Oh well,” Hawke said. “That’s a relief at least. About him and Isabela that is. Though now I don’t think I can trust her when she said I’m better in bed than the Hero of Ferelden.”

“A relief! Look at my wall!” Maxwell yelled. “It has a hole in it!”

“Yes,” Hawke said. “We’ve established that.”

“I’m more interested in why you’re not wearing a shirt, boss,” Varric said, a sly grin on his face. “And why said shirt seems to be on our dear Seeker over there.”

Cassandra blushed and looked away. She was indeed wearing his shirt, which was more of a tunic and covered her down to mid thigh. Though it did accent the fact that Cassandra was very much without pants, those having been left behind in their rush to what they thought was the defense of Skyhold. At least the sword belt around her waist made it look somewhat more like a deliberate clothing choice, and not a last minute attempt by Maxwell to throw his shirt at his lover who had run off without actually grabbing any of her clothes.

“That,” Cassandra said, her voice choked. “Is none of your business.”

“Let me guess,” Varric said. “Having a _picnic_?” 

Cassandra glared at Varric, then looked over at the hole in the wall in a very deliberate fashion. As if to say, _Look at what a large hole this is, plenty of space for, say, a Dwarf to fit through. Which would be most unfortunate, because that drop looks very deep._ Cassandra had mastered the art of significant looks.

Varric cleared his throat and looked away. 

“At least,” Josephine said. “No one asked Empress Celene if her part in the rumors about her and the Hero of Ferelden were true.”

“Though I did hear rumors that Celene did try to entice him while he was passing through the court,” Leliana said. 

“I wonder how Lady Morrigan reacted to that,” Josephine said, glancing over at the hole.

“I also heard that Celene and Morrigan had a vicious argument after that incident,” Leliana continued.

“She got into a fight with the Empress of Orlais?” Hawke asked. “That woman has no fear.”

“She has a habit of being rude to royalty,” Leliana said. “You should have been around during the Blight. I’m surprised Alistair didn’t send soldiers to track her down just for some of the things she said to him.”

“Can we please focus on the giant hole in my wall?” Maxwell said, sighing.

“It’s okay, Maxwell,” Cassandra said. “We can have the builders fix it.”

“Because they were so efficient with the last hole in the wall,” Maxwell muttered. “I can’t have an Inquisition where people blow holes in the wall! Or provoke other people to blow holes in my wall! Sera’s pranks are bad enough, but this I can’t deal with! I’m going to go have a word with Morrigan.”

“Uh,” Leliana said. “Perhaps now is not a good time? She’s not one to calm down quickly.”

Maxwell sighed. “Very well, but we will be calling a meeting with everyone attending. These incidents are starting to grow out of hand.”

“Incidents?” Josephine asked.

“This one,” Maxwell said. “And the incident involving Sera, Vivienne, and Kieran. I’m going to need to lay some ground rules in how we act around each other, while there’s still a standing fortress.”

“Probably a good idea,” Cullen said. 

—-

“What was that explosion, mother?” Kieran asked as Morrigan stormed into their quarters.

“You are never to talk to that man again!” Morrigan said, fuming. Of all the things to ask her. Her! Her Aedan and that…harlot. She paced in front of the fire while Kieran watched, a worried frown on his face.

It infuriated her, the worry that filled her stomach. In the past she and Aedan had been completely honest with each other in regards to their previous sexual experiences. Morrigan had been quite clear that she did not share, her original words aside, and Aedan had never given her reason to doubt that he would abide by her wishes. The topic had never come up after their reunion, but for Morrigan it had become a matter of not wanting to be with anyone else, in any way, nobody but him. She knew he felt the same way, he had as well said as much in his actions, and in the things he whispered to her when they were alone.

And yet she found herself wondering, so much time had passed since last they saw each other. She knew from personal experience that Aedan was very— _vigorous_. She had no doubt in her mind that he had no intentions of straying, and yet the little voice in her head, the one that sounded so very much like her mother’s, would not stop whispering doubts into her mind. What if he found some tavern girl, or some farm girl, just for one night, how would she ever know? How could she ever be certain? 

Morrigan attempted to banish the thoughts from her head, cursing Hawke for reminding her of those old worries with his insipid question. Morrigan had wondered, what would have happened if she had not been there that day? Would he have? She wanted to believe that he would not. More than anything she wanted to believe that it would not have bothered her. But even she could recognize that lie from the way her stomach twisted at the thought. 

“Mother?” Kieran’s worried voice broke through the murk of Morrigan’s fears. She stopped pacing, and looked at her boy, sitting there, with a nervous expression on his face. She strode over to him, wrapping him in a hug.

“Tis nothing,” she said, as she embraced her best shield against her worries. More than anything else, no matter how uncertain she ever was about herself, she knew that Aedan loved his son, and he loved her. Though she trusted no one else, him she trusted without reserve. And no matter where that trust took her, she knew he would never break it.

“Tis nothing,” she repeated, allowing her mind to settle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one became a bit of a downer towards the end. But I imagine Morrigan as the kind of person who has anxiety issues from time to time based on her inexperience in dealing with other people.


	14. Rolling in the Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deep within the Fade, Kieran confronts the reality of his existence.

Loneliness was a strange concept. Thanks to Urthemiel, Kieran was never truly alone; especially in his dreams, when the old god would speak to him. Sometimes the old god brought nightmares that plagued him into his waking hours, and sometimes visions of a past long since lost. Those dreams were his favorite. 

When Father left, Kieran felt loneliness for the first time. Father had always been there, for as long as Kieran could remember. Same as Mother. Even with Mother there—even with Urthemiel visiting him at night—Kieran tasted loneliness for the first time.

“Loneliness cannot harm you,” Mother would say. Though Kieran would often times, when she thought he had gone to bed, find her wistfully holding the small sketch Father had secretly commissioned of the three of them. It had to be small enough that they could never leave it behind.

With Mother away, assisting the Inquisitor, Kieran decided he did not care for loneliness at all. He wondered at how strongly he felt it, when Mother had only been gone a few days. It made sleeping difficult, when he was accustomed to knowing that she was just a room away. Eventually sleep found him. It was no different this night.

As Kieran awoke within his dream, he recognized the shifting reality of the Fade. It sang to him, as it did when he watched Mother perform her magic. Or when he himself touched the Fade to mimic her spells. Sometimes Kieran would allow himself to be carried within the dream, often he would allow Urthemiel to guide him. And sometimes, he would wander, taking control of his dreams on nights he wished to be alone. That was not always an option.

Sometimes Urthemiel would take some time to arrive. Those were the nights Kieran wandered at will. Tonight was one such night. As he searched the Fade, Kieran wondered when the dream would take shape. 

“Curious that you should be here, when you are some distance away in the real world.”

Kieran recognize the voice, he turned to find Solas standing behind him. The elven mage was regarding Kieran with an amusedly befuddled expression. 

“What are you doing here?” Kieran asked. From what he knew of the fade, where one entered it mattered as to where one ended up in it. Solas was with the Inquisitor, too far away to be standing next to him.

“I find it most curious, myself,” said Solas. “I cannot say that I recognize this part of the fade, but I do not appear to be where I would have expected, considering I went to sleep in the Arbor Wilds.”

Solas paced, his feet marking a circle around Kieran. His expression intent, focused on deciphering their situation. Kieran had a flash of recognition, but it was gone before he could process it.

“Tell me, young one,” Solas said. “Do you spend much time walking the fade?”

“Mostly I dream,” Kieran said. “Old dreams. Sometimes nightmares.”

“I know full well of old dreams,” Solas said. “I think you have the potential. Would you like me to show you how to walk the Fade?”

“Yes please,” Kieran said, always eager to learn new magical abilities. He followed Solas as the older mage led him down the path.

“Sometimes you can witness old memories,” Solas said. “Based on where you are. I witnessed the Battle of Ostagar in that fashion.”

“Could we go see it?” Kieran asked, his eyes lighting up.

“So young to want to see a battle,” Solas chuckled. “I would not show it to you, even if I could from here. It is not a sight for children. Or do you perhaps wish to see the Hero of Ferelden and Alistair lighting the signal fire?”

Kieran nodded. 

“Unfortunately that is not possible,” said Solas. “We would have to be there. The Fade reacts to memories, or strong emotions, we would have to either be there, or have a person or item to whom strong emotions were attached.”

Their surroundings shifted. From the rocky paths of the Fade to the noxious bog of a swamp. Kieran looked around, something about the place seemed familiar, though he knew for a fact he had never been there. Before them lay an old hut, in good repair, but succumbing to the damp of the swamp, as mold and moss grew in patches on the wooden structure.

“Curious,” said Solas. “I have been here before. But why would the Fade show us this?”

“Where are we?” Kieran asked.

“This,” Solas said. “Is the hut of Flemeth.”

A young woman appeared through the underbrush, leading four armored men. As they approached the hut, the door opened, revealing a wizened old woman. 

“Mother!” Kieran gasped, upon seeing the young woman, she looked much as she did as he knew her. As she passed by where he and Solas stood, Kieran saw that she wore an expression he had never seen before. She seemed more annoyed, mixed with amusement that did not reach her eyes, her lips quirked in a way that showed they lacked his mother’s fine laugh lines.

Of the four men following her, three of them observed their surroundings with varying levels of fear and anxiety. Only the fourth man did little more than take the cursory glance at his surroundings, once certain there was no danger his eyes remained focused on the two witches before him.

“Father,” Kieran whispered. If he did not recognize the expression on his mother’s face, Aedan Cousland’s expression was one that Kieran never even knew his father was capable of making. His blue eyes were hard, like ice, entirely unlike the blue of a warm summer sky Kieran was so used to. His brows were furrowed, as if he were fighting a constant headache. His mouth was downturned, his lips pursed, and his eyelids narrowed. He looked like a man that had not been happy in a long time.

“Curious,” Solas said. “We appear to be witnessing a memory that neither of us were present for, and for which we are in the wrong location for.”

“But those are my parents,” Kieran said. 

“Indeed,” Solas said. “Which is why I suspect you are seeing this vision because in their minds it is a most powerful memory. One, I assume, that will eventually lead to you.”

The scene shifted, the hut remained, as did Flemeth, but the men were gone. Morrigan was returning to her waiting mother. 

“The Grey Wardens have been safely escorted to their camp,” Morrigan said. “Is that all? Or do you have other warriors of legend for me to babysit?”

“All things in their own time,” Flemeth said. “For now, while we wait, I have something new to teach you.”

Morrigan’s eyes lit up with hunger. Kieran stepped back, he had never seen such a fire in his mother’s eyes before. It made him uneasy to see.

The scene shifted again. Morrigan was frowning at Flemeth, as the old woman finished her lecture.

“And once the child has been conceived, and the soul claimed, you will return to me.”

“For what purpose?” Morrigan asked. “What need have we for an old god’s soul?”

“That is none of your concern. For now focus only on the task at hand. It matters not which of the Wardens you choose,” Flemeth cackled. “Though I suspect I know which you would prefer. Their leader does seem like a fine specimen. And such pretty eyes.”

“Mother!” Morrigan groaned, turning her head to hide her flushed cheeks. It lasted for only a moment, before her casual sneer returned. “And have I no say in any of this? I do not even want a child!”

“It will not be a child,” Flemeth said. “Not truly. Simply a vessel for the old god’s soul.”

Morrigan scoffed. “Tis unlikely to be worth the effort, raising some infant until it is old enough to fend for itself.”

“That is why you will not be the one to raise it,” Flemeth said. “Simply return to me, and once the child is born I will take it in.”

For a moment Kieran saw fear flash across Morrigan’s face, but it was quickly hidden.

“I am surprised, Mother,” said Morrigan. “That you would wish to raise another child.”

“It is not so difficult,” Flemeth said. “I raised you after all.”

“Indeed,” said Morrigan. “You did.”

The scene shifted. They were standing in the regular Fade again. Kieran looked over at Solas, who had a pensive expression on his face.

“So,” said Solas. “A ritual to claim the soul of an old god. What do you know of this?”

“Mother told me not to talk about it,” Kieran answered.

“I imagine she would,” said Solas. “If the ritual succeeded, that would be something I imagine she would not want anyone to know.”

The scene shifted again, before Kieran could respond. They were no longer in the swamp, instead they found themselves in the middle of a forest. Tents made a rough circle around a central fire, except for one, off to the side with its own fire. Two figures stood before it, Kieran instantly recognized Morrigan and Aedan—now out of his armor and wearing heavy Fereldan clothing.

“Tis cold in my tent, all alone,” Morrigan cooed in her most winsome voice. Kieran had heard her using that voice on Father several times. Usually when she wanted something, Father would say.

“I have some extra blankets, if you need them,” Aedan said in a complete deadpan.

Morrigan smirked. “I was thinking more a warm body next to mine…”

“Are you sure of this Morrigan?” Aedan asked. “We can’t afford distractions…or attachments.”

“Are distractions so bad?” Morrigan said. “And whoever said anything about any attachment. No need to complicate things. I know this is what you desire. It is also what I desire.”

Solas, who had been passively watching the scenes unfold, cleared his throat. He stepped between Kieran and his parents’ past selves.

“Perhaps we had best explore another part of this memory,” Solas said, guiding Kieran away from the tent.

“Why?” Kieran asked. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” Solas said.

They wandered among the tents, where two people were sitting in front of the campfire. Kieran recognized Leliana, who had a light smile on her face. She looked happy. Much happier than he had ever seen her. The other person was a blonde man that Kieran did not recognize. He was cutting a wedge from a large wheel of cheese. Kieran realized this must be Alistair, his Father’s former best friend.

Leliana was humming to herself, while strumming on a lute. She paused, looked up with a frown, glancing over her shoulder towards Morrigan’s tent. She turned back to look at Alistair, who was looking up from his cheese with a confused expression.

“Do you hear something?” Leliana asked.

The scene faded away.

Solas breathed a sigh. 

Kieran looked around, confused. “What happened?”

“Do not concern yourself with it,” Solas said. “I suspect your parents would rather be the ones to have that conversation with you.”

The Fade shifted into another scene, the same camp, but at a different location. A burnt and bloodied Aedan was entering camp, followed by the equally disheveled Alistair and Leliana, as well as an older woman Kieran did not recognize. She was limping, leaning heavily on her staff.

Morrigan stood outside her tent, not too far from where Kieran and Solas stood. She watched with an aloof expression as Aedan’s injured party entered the camp. Kieran looked closer, her brows were knit in worry, and her eyes held a guarded, fragile expression that they had not before in any of the other visions.

“You’ve returned,” Morrigan said. “Alive.”

“And mostly unharmed,” Aedan said. “When you said not to underestimate Flemeth, I think perhaps you needed to clarify that she would be turning into a dragon.”

“I did not know what she would do,” Morrigan said. “Just that it was an option. Had I told you she could, you would only have focused on preparing against that. What if she had used a different tactic?”

“I still would have liked to have known,” Aedan said.

“And what of the Grimoire?” Morrigan asked.

Aedan sighed. “I have it here,” he reached into his satchel. He gasped, and dropped the bag, a heavy leather bound book spilling out of it. Aedan clutched his side, grimacing in pain.

“You’re hurt!” Morrigan cried, ignoring the book and closing the gap between her and Aedan. She led him to her fire. “Take off your armor! Did that old fool not heal you? What is the purpose of taking her with you if she leaves you like this?”

“I told her to focus on healing Alistair and Leliana,” Aedan said, wincing as he sat down. “They needed it more.”

Morrigan scoffed. “Those two are expendable,” she said.

Alistair, who was passing by the fire, turned upon hearing this, a put upon expression on his face. “Hey!”

Morrigan ignored him. “We can ill afford to lose you,” she told Aedan. “You should not value their lives over your own.”

“If I really valued my life,” Aedan said. “I would have left Ferelden a long time ago.”

Morrigan slapped the back of his head. “Do not say that. I will not allow you to endanger yourself thusly.”

“I didn’t know you cared,” Aedan said, chuckling.

Morrigan froze. “I simply think,” she stuttered, her face turned away from Aedan, so that Kieran could see her flushed cheeks. “You are too valuable to lose.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Aedan said, taking her hand in his. Morrigan stared at it, before busying herself with removing Aedan’s armor.

Once Aedan’s armor lay on the ground beside them, Morrigan began applying salves to his wound, while giving him potions to drink. Once Aedan could move without wincing, Morrigan sighed. 

“Just…be more careful next time.”

“Of course,” Aedan said, leaning down to pick up the grimoire. “Here.”

“You found it!” Morrigan’s eyes lit up. “This is most fortuitous. I will begin studying it immediately. Flemeth may yet return, but this will teach me what I need to know to protect myself.”

“And if it does not tell you what you need?” Aedan asked.

“I will find something,” Morrigan paused. “Whatever must be done.”

Aedan stepped closer to Morrigan, taking her hands in his own. “You know I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said. “I will always protect you.”

Morrigan’s eyes widened, she stepped away from Aedan, the flush of her face could possibly be from the heat of the fire. “You…you should not say such things. You do not know what the future holds.”

“I would have to be dead not to be there for you,” Aedan said.

Morrigan held the grimoire close to her chest. “I must begin work on translating this,” she said.

The scene shifted again. They were in a tavern. Aedan and Morrigan were sitting by themselves, the rest of their group nowhere to be seen.

“Morrigan,” Aedan said. “There was something I was hoping to discuss.”

“Discuss away,” Morrigan sighed.

“About the other night..,” Aedan said.

“Ah, I am not certain what to say,” Morrigan looked away from Aedan. “I warned you did I not, I told you this was a weakness that was driving me mad. And yet you insisted.”

“Do you really want to stop?” Aedan asked. His forehead was creased, in his eyes Kieran could see the hurt that Morrigan’s words were causing.

“Yes. No. I do, and yet… I cannot,” Morrigan sighed. She continued, tentatively. “’Tis all so…unexpected. I have no experience with any of it. And yet I find myself wanting it. Hungering for it. For you.” She looked at Aedan, Kieran was surprised to see fear in her eyes. “That is not right, is it? That is not how a normal woman acts? I can see it in your eyes. Release me. Tell me that you wish to end this.” Her voice was choked. “Make me believe you and I…will be grateful.”

“I don’t think I can do that,” Aedan said. “Not while you are still here with me.”

“Then I will go, if I must. If you tell me to go,” Morrigan’s voice cracked as she said this.

“But, I need you here,” Aedan said.

“You miserable, selfish bastard,” Morrigan cried, standing up from her seat. She swung her hand at Aedan, striking him across the face. Standing there she glared at him, but Kieran could see the anger draining away, to be replaced with grief. She reached out, taking his face between her hands, pulling him into a desperate kiss. She clung to Aedan, appearing as if she never intended to let go again. Kieran looked away, just as embarrassed as when his parents showed affection for each other in the real world.

Morrigan pulled away from Aedan, her eyes shimmering with furious tears. “You will regret this. And so will I. And…perhaps that is how it must be.” She turned away from him, walking up the stairs to the second floor of the inn.

The scene dissolved.

“I don’t understand,” Kieran said. “Why are we seeing this? Why is Mother asking him to leave her?”

“Sometimes,” Solas said. “Emotions can be complicated. Especially for one with little experience in them.”

A dark room appeared before them. Lit only by the embers of a dying fire. Morrigan stood before it, alone. Her shoulders were quivering, and Kieran could hear silents sobs coming from her. After a moment she took a deep breath, turning to face the door just as Aedan stepped through it.

“Do not be alarmed,” she said. “Tis only I.”

Kieran had heard of this moment before. Mother and Father had told him, of the ritual, not what it entailed though, but they had told him where Urthemiel came from. But never before had he seen it. As Morrigan finished explaining her ritual to Aedan, Kieran never would have imagined the pain he saw in his Father’s eyes. 

“And if I refuse?” Aedan asked.

The question hit Kieran like a thunderbolt.

“Why would he refuse?” Kieran asked. No one answered. He looked around, but Solas was nowhere to be found.

“Then Loghain…” Morrigan was saying.

A figure appeared at Kieran’s side. He looked very much like himself, but his hair was darker, his nose shaped just a little different. His eyes were narrowed, with a guarded expression.

“He’s hurt,” the other Kieran said. “Mother has been lying to him all this time. Everything she said, he cannot know if she truly meant it, or if she was only trying to manipulate him towards her own ends.”

“But she did mean them!” Kieran said. “She loves Father.”

Other Kieran smirked. “But he does not know that. Everything she said, it could all be a lie.”

“Who are you?” Kieran asked.

“I am you,” the darker haired Kieran said. “If the Hero of Ferelden refuses mother, and sends her to Loghain instead.”

“He would never do that!” Kieran said. “He loves her!”

“Perhaps,” said the other Kieran. “But he is hurt. So very hurt. He can barely look at her. It would be so much easier to forget all about her, and have Loghain perform the ritual himself.”

“You expect me to send you to another man?” Aedan was saying.

“I care for you,” Morrigan said. “And would prefer you to be the father of this child if there were a hundred Grey Wardens in the castle. But if you will not…”

“I'm not sending you to Loghain,” Aedan growled.

“Then…?”

Kieran turned away. Behind him stood two versions of himself. They both looked exactly like him in every way. Except… One of them looked sad, not openly, but the kind of sadness that is buried deep.

“Who are you two?” Kieran asked.

“We are both you,” they said. “But now Father has a choice. If Father accepts the ritual, then you will be born. But if he refuses it, one of us will be born. Because they loved each other, one of us will be born.”

“But how are you different?” Kieran asked.

“I am you,” the happy one said. “If Father refuses the ritual, but survives the encounter with the Arch Demon. If Loghain sacrifices himself instead of Father. My life is like yours. Father comes to find us, and we live together as a family. Except I do not have the soul of Urthemiel.”

“Father will never allow another to sacrifice himself,” the sad one said. “He will die killing the Arch Demon. And then I will be born. I never meet him, and mother loses the only man she ever loved.”

“But I know he accepts!” Kieran said.

“Perhaps,” the sad Kieran said. “But perhaps this world you are seeing is not your own?”

Kieran turned back. His parent were gone. He was back in the regular Fade. Figures were appearing from the mist around him. They all looked like him. But with small differences. Some were taller. Some were shorter. All had different color hair. Some had darker skin. Some had heavier features than his own, while others had lighter features. Some had ears with a light, almost imperceptible point to them.

“What is happening?” Kieran cried.

“This is the junction,” the versions of himself said, their voices echoing as one. “The Hero of Ferelden must chose. Like so many others have chosen before him. Across infinite realities. The choice is made by every Hero of Ferelden that has ever existed.”

“But my father is the Hero of Ferelden!” Kieran cried. “Aedan Cousland!”

“It would appear,” Solas said, appearing at his side. “That the Fade is reflecting the infinite possibilities that this moment of choice represents. What if Aedan Cousland never made it out of Highever? What if another took his place in history? That is what these alternate versions represent.”

“But…” Kieran said. “If all of them are me… Then who am I?”

“You are you.”

“But they are me as well,” Kieran said. “I could have been any of them.”

“No,” Solas said. “You are, and were always meant to be, yourself. These others are just shades, remnants of ‘what ifs?’ They are not your reality, just as you are not their reality. If any of them exist elsewhere, it has no bearing on you. Different choices could have been made, events could have unfolded other than they did. But you exist precisely because of those choices.”

“Very well,” Aedan’s voice echoed across the Fade. “I’ll do it. I trust you. But know this. I will find you. No matter what, I will never let you go.”

The figures surrounding Kieran faded away, leaving only himself and Solas standing.

“Well that was most curious,” Solas said. “And this explains a lot. I had sensed something within you. So it is the Old God soul. Curious that the Hero of Ferelden would stoop to such magics to save his own life.”

Kieran rounded on Solas. “You saw what happened! He trusts her. That is why he agreed.”

“I have no doubt that he trusts her,” Solas said. “But after meeting her I do wonder if that trust was misplaced.”

“You don’t know her!” Kieran yelled. “Mother is not a scheming witch. She’s my mother!”

“And you trust her even when she forced this burden on you?”

“I don’t care,” Kieran said. “I would accept it, if the choice were given to me. It saved Father’s life.”

“I wonder,” Solas said. “How others would react, were they to know.”

Kieran blanched. “You can’t tell them!”

“I will not,” Solas said. “Such a revelation would be a burden on you just as much as it would be on your mother. You are still young, and do not deserve that, for you played no part in the decision. Though I wonder, what Morrigan plans to use you for.”   
“She’s my mother,” Kieran repeated stubbornly. “She won’t use me for anything.”

“If you say so,” Solas said. “I must go, it is almost dawn, and the assault on the Arbor Wilds will begin soon.”

He faded away, leaving Kieran alone in the fade for just a moment, before he too awoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for taking so long, I ran into a bit of a stumbling block with another fic I was writing, and it took a while to get back to this one. But don’t worry, we’re back to weekly updates here, since the other chapters are more or less planned out.


	15. Chapter 15: Not Like the Other Kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kieran faces his greatest challenge yet, trying to relate to other children!

The morning after the vision in the fade, his mind still reeling from his encounter with the futures that could have been, Kieran went to his studies as Mother had instructed to do every morning that she was away. This time however, unlike past days, Kieran ended his studies prematurely. His restless mind would not allow him to focus on the research topics Mother had left for him.

The day was still young. As he left his quarters Kieran wondered what to do with the rest of the morning. He considered perhaps finding Josephine or Leliana, they always had snacks or stories. But he remembered that both were away with in Inquisitor. In fact, Kieran realized, anyone he had ever spoken to or felt inclined to spend time around, were all gone with the Inquisitor.

After several moments deciding, Kieran turned around and retrieved one of the books he kept hidden from Mother. She insisted fiction was a poor use of time, though Kieran had become enamored with all manners of adventure stories. They were a welcome diversion from the constant drive to acquire knowledge. Sometimes he dreamed of those books, rather than the dreams of ancient knowledge. He was happiest then.

Kieran wandered to their usual spot in the garden, and found a place to sit down. He tried to read, but found his mind as unfocused on the fiction as it had been on his studies. Seeing his parents when they were younger, before his birth, had been a curious experience. He was uncertain how accurate the visions were, as the Fade had showed him things that could not be real by showing him visions of himself if events had transpired differently. But by their very nature they were lies, as his own existence disproved their validity. So was what he saw of his parents what really happened, or just another fabrication of the Fade.

While he had in the past wondered about their adventures and such, Kieran had not spent a great deal time wondering about how their relationship came to be. To him they had always been, he could barely conceive of a time when things were not as they were now. Of course he understood that not everything was as it once was, Urthemiel’s whisperings had made certain of that. But his parents had been such a constant—for as long as he could remember—that the thought of them at one point not knowing who the other was seemed odd to him.

It was for this reason that Father having left had been so trying. And now with Mother absent as well, Kieran found himself growing evermore concerned. What if something happened to them? What if neither of them return?

But that thought was ridiculous, they were both the strongest people in the world. Nothing would happen. They would not allow it.

An object landed before him, as Kieran picked it up, it appeared to be a solid bundle of rags of some sort. It was very dirty. 

“Here,” a voice called. “Pass that back.”

There were other children in the garden, a small group of them were jogging over to Kieran, from where the rest of them were standing around in an open space of the garden. Kieran stood up, holding what he realized was a ball of some sort, made of rags tied together. He had been noticing recently that more children seemed to be around Skyhold as of recently. He had never talked to any of them. Having never spent much time around children his own age, he found it difficult to approach them. Mother had always stressed the importance of never revealing too much to strangers. And with very little other than strange magics and the like on his mind Kieran found it next to impossible to know how to speak to others his age. In fact, talking to adults was far easier if for no other reason than that he had spent so much of his life around just his parents. He spoke to adults like he spoke to them. But other children were another matter altogether. 

But with all the adults off fighting Corypheus, save for a handful of soldiers left to defend the fortress, Kieran found himself motivated to approach these children.

They seemed to be about his age, with the boy leading the group perhaps a year or two older. To a one the boys wore plain clothing, some were better made than others, but none like the gauche garments worn by the Orlesian nobility. Kieran supposed these were the children of soldiers and servants.

The group stopped in front of Kieran. They stared at each other for a moment, as Kieran held the ball, trying to think of what to say. 

“You going to pass that over, what?” The tallest boy said.

“Oh,” said Kieran, handing the ball over. “Sorry.”

After having received the ball, the older boy paused a moment, as if expecting something. Kieran racked his brain for something to say. Weren’t they supposed to introduce each other?

“Well,” the older boy said. “Thanks.” He turned to leave.

“Ah,” Kieran said. “Uh…my name’s Kieran!”

The boys turned around again. The eldest gave Kieran a calculating look.

“Name’s Cedric,” he finally said. “I’ve not seen you around before. You some nobleman’s son or something?”

“Huh?” Kieran said, caught off guard. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, your parents ain’t servants, right?” Cedric said. “Not with those fancy clothes.”

“Oh,” Kieran said, feeling self conscious for the first time about his outfit. “My mother chose these.”

Cedric laughed. “She some lady then?”

“Sort of?” Kieran said. “She wasn’t born in nobility, but she’s a Lady. People call her that.”

“Oh I see,” said Cedric. “You some noble’s bastard then?”

“No!” Kieran said. The concept of a bastard was one he had only recently been introduced to. He had wondered whether the term applied to himself, he had been uncertain since his parents had not been wed at the time. In fact they had only just been wed before father left. Kieran did not think the term truly applied to him, since they had all been together, and Father was never married to any other woman.

“Not a bastard,” Cedric said. “And your mother isn’t exactly a lady, even if other people call her that. But still the fancy clothes. Your family merchants or something?”

“It’s…complicated,” Kieran said. Truly it was not quite so complicated, but mother had been most firm about not sharing the details of their family with just anyone.

“Ah, I see,” said Cedric. “Complicated it is then.”

Cedric continued to frown at Kieran for some time. Finally the older boy nodded. “You want to play then?”

“Play?” Kieran asked. “Yes. What are we playing?”

“Football,” Cedric said. “You ever played?”

Kieran shook his head.

“You kick the ball into the goal,” Cedric said. “Only use your feet.”

“Oh, I’ve heard about this game!” Kieran said, excitedly following after the other boys. “Did you know the Alamarri invented it using the heads of their enemies as balls? They called it Kapf.”

Some of the boys went a little green. Cedric on the other hand grinned. “Really? That’s wicked that is.”

Cedric had Kieran join his team, and the relatively even groups began to play.

In theory it was a simple game. Take possession of the ball and propel it to the other side of the field. What Kieran found early on was that sometimes he had to lead the ball along with his feet, to get within kicking range of the goal. He tried to copy what the other boys were doing, and quickly realized that they must be some kind of naturally gifted prodigies, because he could not fathom how they moved with the ball in front of their legs without tripping over it.

They played like this for some time. Kieran did not improve in the slightest. After the game was called he found himself wandering away. Gathering his book he headed for the library.   
#  
As he entered the library, Kieran was surprised to find what appeared to be a small class being held. The instructor was wearing the typical mage robes, sitting on the ground around him was a collection of children around Kieran’s age, all wearing similar looking robes as the instructor. Curious, Kieran wandered over to the lesson. He had never seen such lessons being held in the library itself. But with Skyhold mostly empty perhaps the remaining mages and their children apprentices found themselves with more space to spread out a little. A pair of wary eyed templars stood off to one side, anxious perhaps about a repeat of the incident at Redcliffe. 

He sat down at the edge of the group, nobody paid him any mind, they were all focused on the lesson. Kieran listened to the instructor. He was teaching what appeared to be an introductory course, going over the varied disciplines of magic. Kieran frowned. He knew all of what was being taught, Mother had covered them all extensively. But the instructor was speaking as if these were the only schools of magic.

“That’s not right,” Kieran said. “There are more schools of magic than just those. What about shapeshifting? And Dalish nature magic?”

The instructor frowned and blinked, clearly unused to being interrupted. “Those schools are not taught for a reason. Much like blood magic, they are considered too dangerous for use, and the cost extends beyond their practicality.”

“But shapeshifting isn’t dangerous. At least it’s a lot less dangerous than blood magic.”

“That isn’t the point,” the instructor said, shaking their head. “Actually, who are you even? You’re not one of my students.”

“I’m Kieran,” said Kieran.

The other children turned to look between Kieran and the instructor, whose face had gone pale, and regarded Kieran with a wary nervousness. 

“Ah,” he said. “You’re…her… son then?”

“Her?” Kieran asked. “Her who?”

“I…never mind,” he gathered up several scrolls and books, passing them to another, younger, mage. “Well, I think it’s just about time for lunch. Come along children.”

And the class, with some curious looks back at Kieran, left the library.

With all apparently available diversions spent, Kieran decided to sit down and do what he had intended in the first place, read.

It was several hours later that Kieran noticed some of the mage children had returned to the library. They were sitting in a nook across from him, furtively glancing over to where he sat. When they saw that he had noticed them, they quickly turned away. Kieran watched as they seemed to be furiously discussing something. Finally, as a whole, the small group stood up from their nook, glanced around, and walked along the edge of the library towards him.

They stopped, several feet away from him, fidgeting. One of the boys pushed the girl standing at the head of the group forward. She stumbled, caught herself, and turned around with a glare on her face. The boy made furtive, ‘go on’ motions with his hands.

The girl turned to look at Kieran, clearing her throat. “Is it true?” She asked, with a hint of an Orlesian accent. Her hair was the color of sun-bleached straw, cut short, and covering her ears except for the pointed tips sticking out from the strands. She had very big, brown eyes, Kieran noticed, and bronzed skin that seemed to glow in the soft light of the torches.

“Is what true?” Kieran asked.

“That your mother is the Witch of the Wilds, like in the old stories?”

Kieran nodded. “Yes. Well, she’s a witch of the wilds. There are more. Apparently.”

“Have you ever met any other witches?”

“No,” Kieran said. Mother had mentioned that she possibly had sisters somewhere, but had never met or heard from any of them.

“Oh,” said the girl, seeming disappointed. “But your mother fought the Blight, yes?”

“She did,” Kieran said. “But she never tells me anything about it.”

“That is so interesting!" The girl said. “My name is Marie. A lot of the adult mages talk about her when they think we aren’t listening. They are afraid of her, but they admire her for remaining free for so long. I think a lot of them want the same, but most are too afraid to try.”

“Why are they afraid of her?” Kieran asked. The thought that someone would be afraid of his mother, it made little sense to him. What was there to be afraid of, truly? 

“Well,” Marie hesitated. “She is intimidating, no? No one knows what she might do.”

“No one knows what anyone may do,” Kieran retorted, annoyance flaring up. There was no reason for anyone to be afraid of her, so what right did they have being afraid?

“Well, yes,” Marie said. “But…”

“She’s not scary,” Kieran said. “Not when she isn’t angry at least.”

“So what is it like?” Marie asked, diverting the conversation. “Living outside the circles.”

Kieran shrugged. “I don’t know? I don’t know anything else, so I can’t compare them.”

“You’re really lucky,” one of the boys stepped forward, followed by the rest of the group coming closer.

“I am?” Kieran blinked. He had never actively considered that. He had very little to complain about, but the thought that his life was something another would call lucky had just never come up. “How so?”

“Yeah,” the boy said. “You’re free, and your mother didn’t chase you away because you’re a mage.”

“Did your family chase you away?” Kieran asked. Such a possibility had never occurred to him. That anyone was afraid of magic always surprised him, but to the point that they would willingly chase away their own child, or give them to the Templars. That seemed so unreal that he had never considered the possibility. After all, he had nothing to compare such a concept to. His parents would never do such a thing, and it was not just because Mother was a mage herself.

The boy nodded, surly. “She was frightened. Me whole village was frightened. I would have starved, living on the streets, had Templars not found me.”

Kieran shuddered, his whole life Templars had been a constant fear. Mother derided them, considered them all fools, but he could tell that the fear of Templars finally coming for them was never far from her mind, though she hid it well. For many years his nightmares had featured faceless creatures in armor, breaking down the door, overwhelming his parents, and taking him away. Even the bizarre dreams that Urthemiel gave him were preferable to those dreams. The only ones worse were the ones with the darkspawn. 

“I don’t like Templars,” Kieran said.

“Well you wouldn’t,” the boy said, rolling his eyes.

“Most of the mages in the rebellion hate Templars, Geoffrey,” Marie said. “Some don’t really hate them, they just want to live in peace. Only free.”

“What is it like living in a circle?” Kieran asked. “Are you really not free?”

“No,” Marie said. “There’s always someone telling you what to do, and when. The Templars. Older mages. And we don’t ever get to leave.”

“Do you want to be free?” Kieran asked.

Marie shrugged. “It would be nice. But what would I do? People are afraid of us, I would be all alone. We do not all have someone to take care of us.”

Geoffrey tapped Marie on the shoulder, tilting his head towards the library stairs, where their teacher was coming up, followed by the two Templars from before.

“We have to get back to lessons,” Marie told Kieran. “Good bye.”

They left Kieran alone with his thoughts. Marie had sounded so sad when she had been talking about freedom. He could tell she wanted to be free, but sounded so hopeless because she had no way to do it. It did not seem fair, that just for differences in circumstances they were trapped in a circle, while he himself was free. But for all that it seemed unjust, Kieran found himself unable to think of any way to help them. Perhaps if they had someone to protect them from the circles, like Mother had protected him. Who could do such a thing he did not know, he knew for certain that Mother would never volunteer.

Though it seemed impossible, in the back of his mind he could not let the idea go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize that this took so long to come out. I know in the past I've said that I would go back to a weekly schedule. Things have happened that have made it harder to do that, but I'm going to try and make sure that the next few chapters come out at a reasonable rate. Since from here is where things get interesting.
> 
> Also, I apologize for blatantly making up words and inserting soccer into Thedas.


	16. The Warden's Return Redux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warden returns to his family. But the journey is perilous, and the reward at the end beyond all value. How will the Inquisition react to this great warrior in their midst?

The spear butt to his chest knocked Jean to the ground, his breaths coming in short gasps. He had always been large and strong, so it did not hurt excessively. Taking a beating was something he was used to. Village youths thinking they could prove how tough they were by fighting the biggest lad in the village. Even better that he never fought back because he detested violence. But these men had weapons. Fists he could endure, but the bandits could cut him down without a second thought. He shuddered to think what would happen to Lisette and the girls, were that to happen. If only he could get to the axe stashed in the cart. Protecting his family came before his aversion to violence.

“Papa!” Annette, his eldest daughter, cried.

“Stay down,” the bandit said. “If you know what is good for you!”

“Please,” Jean said, remaining on his knees, trying to keep his expression level. “We do not have much. All we have is what we need to survive. We have no money, no valuables.”

“I disagree,” the bandit said, stepping forward and grabbing Annette’s arm. “I think your daughter here will be very valuable. To the right buyers.”

“No!” Jean jumped to his feet, only to have the butt of the spear hit him in the face. He ignored it, staggering for only a moment, and grabbed the spear, pulling the bandit towards him. The bandit responded by kicking him in the face, knocking him down again.

“Stupid,” the bandit laughed, throwing Annette to the side. “We’ll take what we want. You can live or you can die. And I think you’ve decided to die.”

Jean closed his eyes, gritting at the pain forced him back to his knees. He could barely see. He was a failure, what good was he if he could not protect his family.

Something hit him in the back, knocking his face into the dirt. When he looked up a large dog was mauling the bandit. Annette had run back to her mother’s side, while a man in armor stood between them and the bandits. His sword had skewered another of the bandits, whose lifeless body he cast aside.

“I don’t much care for bandits,” the man said. “Especially not the kind interested in joining the slave trade. I would normally offer you the chance to surrender.” He flicked his sword, blood flying off the blade to land on the ground before the remaining three bandits. “But you I will make an exception for.”

The bandits, emboldened by the advantage in numbers, charged. Somehow, despite seeing the dog tear a man’s throat out, going through armor to do so, they still made the mistake of ignoring it. The archer was the first to pay for that mistake as the beast charged past the other two and crunched down on his leg. The man screamed and fell to the ground. He did not get back up.

The two remaining men did not hesitate. Nor did the lone warrior. It was over within seconds. The larger bandit, wearing heavier armor, received a pommel to the face, knocking him to the ground. His fellow, wearing far less armor, was decapitated in one swing, and with the second swing the warrior gripped his sword by the blade and smashed the cross guard of his sword through the faceplate of the fallen bandit’s helmet.

The man, who Jean realized was wearing Grey Warden armor—covered in the blood of the bandits—turned to face Jean and his family.

“Are you all right?” The Warden asked.

“Don’t come any closer, Grey Warden,” Jean said, pushing himself to his feet. “We want none of your kind.”

He had heard the rumors about what the Grey Wardens did at Adamant. Whether they were true or not, he had never trusted or liked Grey Wardens. They always took from those that could not afford to have taken from. And those few he had ever met were thugs.

“You Orlesians have a strange way of saying, ‘Thank you.’” The Grey Warden pulled a cloth from a pouch on his belt, and wiped the blood from his sword. Once satisfied that it was clean he replaced it inside its sheath.

“You’ll get no thanks from us!” Jean said. “Now be off.”

“Jean!” Lisette said. “That’s no way to treat our savior!”

“He’s a Grey Warden,” Jean waved his hand at the man, who had taken off his helmet. The man’s brown hair and beard were cut short; he had the complexion of a very pale man who had spent a great deal of time in the sun recently. “You know they can’t be trusted! Not after they tried summoning that demon army!”

“Who tried summoning a demon what now?” The man asked, his brow quirked.

“It’s your own order!” Jean said. “You should know about what you maker damned apostates were doing.”

“To be fair, only some of us could be considered apostates,” the man said. “What with the rest of us not being mages. And I have been gone for some years. Recent events have passed me by.”

Jean explained exactly what he had heard. The Warden’s expression fell as Jean told him the rumors he had heard.

“Huh,” said the Warden. “Sounds like I have some people that I need to talk to.”

“Either way,” Jean said. “You stay away from us.” Lisette smacked his arm.

“Please forgive my husband,” Lisette said. “Could we at least know your name?”

“It’s Aedan,” the Warden said. “That’s the only name I go by anymore. Or Warden. People like to call me that.”

“Thank you, Ser Aedan,” Lisette said. “My husband may not show it, but we are grateful for your rescue.”

“Hurmph,” Jean muttered, as they climbed back in to their cart. It was true that he was grateful his family was unharmed. But for it to be thanks to the intervention of another man, and one of those maker damned Grey Wardens, that stung.  
#  
They travelled several miles before they made camp. Their slow moving cart, burdened down by their possessions, was not the fastest, nor the most comfortable of ways to travel.

It had grown dark by the time that Jean noticed another campfire, made several yards away from them.

“Who is that?” He asked Lisette.

“I think it is the Warden,” she said. “He must be traveling in the same direction as us.”

“He’s following us!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lisette said. “What purpose could he have to follow us?”

“He may intend to rob us!”

“Why follow us for that? If he wanted to rob us he could have. And he is allowed to take what he wants anyway, so why bother following us like this? He means us no harm.”

“Maybe he intends to take us someplace secret to perform blood magic.”

“As opposed to the completely public place we were in when he found us?” Lisette asked. “The man is clearly not a mage. It’s just a coincidence.”

“I don’t like it.”

Lisette sighed.

“Excuse me,” she called into the darkness. “But where are you traveling?”

There was a pause, and then, fairly close by though they could not see him clearly.

“Skyhold,” Aedan called back.

“Oh,” Lisette said. “We are going to the same place.”

“Don’t tell him that!” Jean hissed.

“You are being ridiculous!”

Jean turned to the fire and watched the kettle bubble. His girls, Annette and René, the younger, where whispering and giggling.

“And what are you two whispering about?” Jean asked.

“Nothing!” Annette said.

“She thinks the Warden is handsome,” René supplied.

“René! Shush!” Annette hissed.

Jean ground his teeth.

“Some of the worst men I’ve known have been handsome men!” Jean said.

“I doubt he is a bad man,” Lisette said. “But he is far too old for you Annette.”

“I just said I thought he was handsome!” Annette protested. “I didn’t mean anything by it!”

Lisette laughed. “You are at the age where we should start worrying about that kind of thing.”

Jean rubbed his temples against the headache that was forming. On top of losing their home, being assaulted by bandits in the middle of the wilderness, now his daughter was developing crushes on handsome strangers. He would have to keep a close eye on any men that would try to take advantage of her. She was still inexperienced.

“What are you doing?” He asked, when he noticed Lisette filling one bowl of stew more than they needed.

“I am taking a bowl to the Warden,” Lisette said.

“What? Why?”

“He did save our lives,” Lisette said. “And you were most ungrateful to him.”

“I have good reason to be suspicious,” Jean insisted.

“Rumors are not a good reason,” Lisette said, standing up. “All we know is this man saved out lives and has done us no harm.”

“But…”

“You stay here,” Lisette said. “I don’t want you being rude again.”

She turned and carried the bowl, carefully, towards the other fire.

“Can we come with you, maman?” René asked.

“Of course,” Lisette said. René and Annette stood up to follow her.

“Hey!” Jean yelled. “Come back here!”

He hesitated. It was true that the Warden had done them no harm. And Lisette had told him to stay put. But this would not do. He was not going to just sit by while his family went over to a man he had no way of trusting.

Jean stood up and followed after them. He trod carefully, avoiding roots and stones, until he found himself by the other fire.

The Grey Warden was eating the stew, and he seemed to be enjoying it. René was sitting next to him, gesturing excitedly, while Lisette watched with fondness and Annette stood petting the horse that was tethered to a nearby tree. Jean grit his teeth again.

“Have you ever killed a dragon?” René was asking. “Real heroes have to kill dragons. The Inquisitor has killed ten dragons!”

“Really?” The Warden said. “I’ve only killed five. Technically. Two of them just looked like dragons.”

“Then what were they really?” René asked, her her delicate brows dipped in confusion.

“Nothing you want to concern yourself over,” the Warden said.

“You said you had been away for some time,” Lisette said. “I did not know that Grey Wardens were allowed to leave.”

“I was on a quest,” the Warden said. “For the benefit of the order as it were.”

“And did you succeed?”

“I would not be returning home if I had not.”

“And where is home?” Lisette asked.

“Right now?” The warden said. “Wherever my family is.”

“You have a family? I did not know Grey Wardens had families.”

“Most don’t,” the Warden placed the bowl on the ground next to him. “It is not a life worth sharing, for most.”

“And your wife believes it is worth sharing?”

“She is…” The Warden hesitated. “Not a usual woman. A normal life would be unbearably dull for her.”

Jean cleared his throat, ignoring Lisette’s raised eyebrow when she saw him standing there. The Warden didn’t seem dangerous, but then again he had always thought of the Wardens as heroes. Then the Inquisition discovered what they had been doing at Adamant. No hero could murder their own friends to summon a demon army, no matter the reason. But this man, if he was away during that time as he claimed, might be different. But Jean needed to know for himself. After all, there was no way of chasing the Warden off. Not after seeing how he handled the bandits.

“It is time for sleep,” he told his girls.

“But Papa...” Annette started to complain.

“No buts,” Jean said. “We have to be up early tomorrow morning.”

“Listen to your father,” Lisette said. “Come along.”

Lisette placed a hand on Jean’s upper arm, as she led the girls back to their camp. He took her meaning, and nodded to let her know he would not start a needless fight. Jean had always been large, as a lad and as a man, used to heavy labor in the fields. The Warden was also a large man, but this was a man that had never worked a day in a field in his life. Jean could not be certain, he had a certain air about him that suggested a more privileged background. This was a man who had grown large learning to fight.

Jean tried setting his shoulders in that particular way, that always ended arguments before they could become fights. The Warden did not react, whether unimpressed or whether he had not noticed anything made no difference. Both meant that tactic was not going to work. He was not a man easily intimidated, that much was clear.

The Warden reached into his bag, Jean flinched, and cursed himself for doing so. What the Warden pulled out was a grubby looking glass bottle. He opened it and took a swig from it, then held it out to Jean.

Relaxing his shoulders, Jean hesitated for a moment. Then reached out and took the bottle. He sniffed it and pulled back. It was strong, whatever it was, but it didn’t smell like poison. Not that he actually knew what poison would smell like. It just didn’t smell like anything other than alcohol. He took a swig. And coughed.

“Nom de... This is strong stuff! What is in it?” He handed the bottle back to the Warden.

“Apples,” the other man said, taking another swig. “Mostly. And other things. It’s a tradition among wardens. Find a bottle and keep refilling it with whatever you find. Takes on a personal taste. You’ll never taste this specific flavor after today.”

“After the first drink,” Jean said. “I think that might be for the best.”

Aedan laughed. “It grows on you. Then it changes the next time you fill it.”

“Why a glass bottle?” Jean asked. “Wouldn’t that break on your travels?”

“I’ve tried metal and hide bottles, it eats away at them.”

Jean sat down, satisfied that this was not a man who would kill after sharing drinks. Though apparently his drink would do all the killing needed. Slowly. The best kind of death. Still, they passed the bottle between themselves.

“So, I heard you say you have a family?”

Jean felt the need to probe. He was growing to believe Aedan meant them no harm. One man to another, a father could tell if another man was actually a father. The way they talked, the things they talked about, all rang true between them. Only another father could recognize the hints. If Aedan was telling the truth about having a family then Jean felt more inclined to trust him in other things.

“Yes,” Aedan said. “My wife, though that took some convincing, and our son.”

They talked for some hours, sharing small stories along with the drink. The bottle lasted the entire time, as Jean found himself unable to take more than the smallest of sips without his mouth feeling like it was stuffed with thistles. By the end of it, Jean was convinced that Aedan was not lying.

“You have a good family,” Aedan said.

“Yes,” Jean replied. “I would not trade them for the world.”

“Good plan, the world is more trouble than it’s worth.”

“And my Lisette,” Jean said. “I wouldn’t know what to do with the world if she were not by my side. She’s always been the smart one, ever since we were young.”

“You grew up in the same village then?”

“Oui,” Jean slurred. “She could have chosen anyone she wanted. But she chose me.”

Aedan nodded. “Feels good to be wanted.”

“It does. How about you? How did you meet your wife?”

“It was...tumultuous,” Aedan said, hesitating just a moment. “She ran away at one point. I didn’t see her again for two years.”

“And you looked for her?”

“I did,” Aedan sighed. “Came close to giving up hope, but I found her in the end. Or rather, she let me find her.”

“And you’re not afraid she would run again?” Jean was not certain how he would react if Lisette ran from him. He contemplated the nigh empty bottle in his hand. Perhaps his answer was closer to hand than he realized. He shuddered and passed the bottle back to Aedan.

Aedan shook his head.

“Things had changed when I found her again. Don’t tell her I said this, but she was afraid the first time she ran away. Or at least that’s what I believe. But after we found each other, I think she realized what she really wanted.”

Jean tried every day to be the kind of man Lisette would never want to leave. But the thought lingered in the moment. It would take a great deal of strength to recover from the woman you loved leaving you. And a great deal of love to seek her out.

#

They continued their drinking the rest of the evening. Their conversation devolving the further down the bottle they got.

“No my wife is the best!” Jean yelled.

“You’re drunk, my Morrigan is better than anyone!”

“No you’re drunk, no one is better than Lisette!”

“Say that again, I’ll punch you!”

“Not if I...” Jean swung at what he thought was Aedan, but turned out to be another one of those damned fake Aedans that kept dancing around his field of vision.

“What are you doing?” Lisette said, as she stepped into the ring of firelight.

“Lisette,” Jean spun around. Oh Maker, there were multiple Lisettes! This realization was significantly more pleasant. “He’s saying you’re not the best!”

“Morrigan is best!”

“Okay,” Lisette said. “The both of you need to sleep. You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” Jean said. “You’re beautiful.”

“Of course,” Lisette laughed. Her laugh was always so beautiful. “But we have to be up early, and you get grump when you have a headache.”

“Oh, right.” Jean allowed himself to be led back to their campfire, where the girls were already sleeping. Lisette helped him into his bedroll, before laying down next to him, where he fell to sleep in a pleasant fuzz.

#

Jean woke to daggers pressing in to his head through his eyeballs. He tried opening his eyes and the daggers became Andraste’s Flaming Sword. Two of them. One in each eye.

“Ooooooh,” he groaned, pressing his hands against his eyes, hard.

“It’s your own fault,” Lisette said, with the voice of thunder.

“Ooooouuurgh,” Jean moaned.

“Mother, is father all right?” René asked.

“Your father decided to have a drink last night.”

“Please let me die in peace,” Jean begged.

“Oh no,” Lisette said. “You are not dying out here and leaving us alone in the wilderness.”

“I can’t see,” Jean said. “I think the drink made me blind.”

“Just open your eyes.”

“Good morning!” It was Aedan’s voice, and yet he sounded far too pleased that morning for someone that drank that devil liquid last night.

“Good morning, Warden,” Lisette said. “You seem in better shape than my husband.”

“Ah, yeah,” Aedan said. “It can get you like that the next day.”

Jean felt and heard Aedan crouch down next to him.

“Here,” Aedan said. “Drink this, it will help.”

“I’m not drinking anything you give me.”

“It will help with the headache.”

“Fine.” Jean took the proffered bottle. The liquid was like thick porridge and tasted like burnt onions. He gagged.

“Keep it down or it won’t work,” Aedan said.

He did keep it down, though it was a close thing. And after several minutes the flaming swords were pulled from his eyes and he felt able to open them. The light still hurt, but he could bear it. Aedan was smiling, a fact that Jean felt most belligerent about; he did not feel like smiling at all.

“Need any help putting camp away?” Aedan asked.

“No need,” Lisette said. “We just need to get Jean into the cart. He can’t handle alcohol very well.” She gave Aedan a very pointed look.

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

Jean stood, unsure on his feet, his head swimming, but he was starting to feel better. He would never drink again, he swore it.

“We should go,” Jean said. “We still have much distance to cover.”

“You said you were traveling to Skyhold,” Aedan said. “Why?”

Jean hesitated. He had shared drinks with the man, and felt he was mostly trustworthy. The little he knew about him painted a favorable picture.

“Our farmland was overrun during the civil war,” Jean said, after a moment of hesitation. “We hope that the Inquisitor can do something to help. The Inquisition offers employment. Or if not, we wanted to see the Herald of Andraste for ourselves.”

“Perhaps we could travel together?” Aedan suggested. “You could use a guard getting through the Frostbacks. I’ve been there many times and know my way around them.”

The Warden’s skills certainly spoke for themselves. But hiring a guard would require money they did not have.

“We cannot pay you.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Aedan said. “I’m not expecting pay. But since we’re headed in the same direction I might as well help you stay alive. If you’re willing that is.”

“I cannot say no to something free,” Jean said.

“Though you probably should,” Aedan said. “Most free things aren’t worth it. Not in this case though.”

#

Some days later they were in the middle of the Frostback Mountains. There had been no incidents since Aedan joined them, the sight of a fully armored Grey Warden, even a solitary one, kept most trouble away. Except, possibly, for darkspawn. Thank the Maker they had not run into any of those.

“Not much further I think,” Aedan said. “Just a few more miles.”

“How do you know?” Jean asked.

“I have a magic ring that helps me find my way.”

He was always saying things Jean could not understand.

“Find your way to what?”

“To the only thing that matters.”

A roar froze them in their places. A shadow obscured the sun, passing by them at great speed. The horses bellowed in fright. On the path ahead a dragon landed, striking down like the wrath of the maker.

“Please tell me you weren’t lying about killing dragons,” Jean said.

“Oh I’ve killed them,” Aedan said

Jean sighed in relief.

“Only I’ve had help killing most of them.”

“How many have you killed on your own?”

“Two.”

“Oh, good.”

“But they weren’t as big as this one.”

“Oh.”

“Listen,” Aedan said, dismounting from his horse. “When you get an opening, you and your family run.”

“What about you?” Lisette asked.

Aedan pulled his sword from its sheath. “I’ll distract it to give you a chance to escape.”

Aedan took a deep breath, closing his eyes. When he opened them they were wild and unfocused. He roared, nigh loud enough to challenge the answering roar of the dragon, and charged.

Flames rolled from the dragon’s mouth, Aedan dodged to the side. His heavy armor seemed to not impede his movement in any way. He got close and thrust his blade into the back of the dragon’s leg joint. The dragon dodged away, clearing the road.

“Quickly now!” Jean urged their horse forward. Aedan’s horse bolted after them.

They put the dragon behind them. Once well out of danger’s way, Jean hesitated.

“Jean, what are you doing?” Lisette asked.

“I can’t leave him alone like this.”

“No!” Lisette realized his meaning. “You cannot go back! You’ll die!”

Jean pulled the haft of his long axe from the back of the cart. It did him little good last time. But this time…

“I have my father’s axe. I should put some use to it,” Jean said. “You take the children and run. Go to Skyhold. The Inquisitor can help us.”

He leaped from the wagon and ran back up the path, before Lisette could say anything, or before he thought long enough to change his mind.

#

Maxwell and Leliana were waiting by the gate with Kieran. Morrigan had told them that the Hero of Ferelden was approaching Skyhold and should be arriving today.

“How much further away did your mother say he was?” Leliana asked Kieran.

“Not much,” the boy said. “He should be here soon.”

“And why isn’t she here right now?” Maxwell would have thought that her lover’s return would be reason to leave the garden. Though he would not be the first to claim he understood her. Even those that knew her barely understood her. In his estimation there were only two people that truly knew Morrigan.

“She gets embarrassed when Father kisses her around other people,” Kieran said.

“Ah, say no more,” Maxwell said. He had a hard time imagining Morrigan embarrassed. Then again he would have had a hard time imagining her in any emotional state other than cool disdain. And then Kieran had disappeared into the Fade. Morrigan had been distraught, beyond what Maxwell had believed her capable of.

He looked over at Kieran. The boy had been...different since their encounter with Flemeth. He seemed more focused on what was around him. His expression, which so often seemed to be far away, was much more alert, less vague. At the same time he appeared confused. All things considered, Maxwell was not surprised. That thing he had carried in him was not something Maxwell would have ever imagined. Morrigan had not deigned to explain the hows or the whys of the situation, and Maxwell had not pressed. Ultimately no harm had been done.

A small cart appeared at the end of the bridge. As it approached the gates, Maxwell could make out a woman and two girls. They were yelling about something. Maxwell frowned and approached them.

“What is going on?” He asked.

“A dragon!” The woman cried. “Please we need help! My husband and the Warden are still fighting it.”

Maxwell turned to Leliana. “Get the rest of the Companions. We need to deal with this.”

Leliana nodded and turned. Maxwell wondered how a dragon could be this close to Skyhold without their noticing. It was a good thing that he had taken to wearing his armor around Skyhold. Not that he had many options after his favorite suit was burned under mysterious circumstances. He had asked Cassandra about where his beige suit had gone, but she had claimed no knowledge of it.

#

The Inquisitor and his warriors had left. Kieran suspected that the Warden was indeed Father. Who else would run across a dragon in the middle of nowhere like this? He looked at the woman and her daughters. They were standing by their cart, in sight of the gate, waiting. All three of them were crying.

Kieran decided to comfort them if he could.

“Don’t be sad,” he said as he approached them. “It will be okay.”

“How do you know?” The youngest of the three said.

“The Warden doesn’t let anyone die,” Kieran said. “They’ll both be back.”

#

Maxwell followed the path the woman, Lisette, had indicated. They had been traveling for some time but there were no sounds of battle. No roars of any dragon ahead.

They passed a bend in the path, and came across an unexpected sight.

Not unexpected in that they were not expecting to find a dragon. But rather unexpected in that they were expecting to find a live dragon and possibly two dead men. Not the other way around.  
Yet there was the dragon’s corpse, large gashes in its side spilling gore on to the steaming snow. Both men were alive, and resting against the rocks, though the blonde man looked significantly worse for the wear. Which would be expected as he did not appear to be wearing any armor at all, but rather a peasant’s tunic and cloak. A dark grey cloak covered his lower body like a blanket. He sat up as Maxwell dismounted, followed by his companions. The man had the heavy weight of a laborer and was red faced from the exertion.

The other man was as large as the first, but in his case he had the broad shouldered leanness of a man who moved fast and hit hard. Next to him a Mabari lounged in the snow. His Grey Warden armor showed a great deal of damage. As if it had taken blows the warrior would have avoided were he not trying to keep another alive. It was a testament to the Grey Warden smiths that the armor remained attached to him. 

With a clunk the Warden’s pauldron fell to the ground.

“Hello there,” the Warden said.

Maxwell raised an eyebrow. The man’s tone was completely conversational, as if he had not just single-handed killed a High Dragon.

“We were told there was a dragon,” Maxwell said.

“Been taken care of,” the Warden said. “Sorry.”

“Dammit,” Iron Bull muttered from directly behind Maxwell. He jumped. He had not heard Bull approach.

“You’ve had your fill of dragons,” Maxwell said.

“There’s always room for one more dragon,” Bull said.

“I’m impressed,” Maxwell. “That two men could take down a dragon.”

The Mabari barked.

“Pardon,” Maxwell said. “Two men and a hound.”

The blonde man chuckled. “I did little else than provide a distraction.” His hand was resting on the broken haft of an axe.

“You survived,” the Warden said. “Can’t disregard that.”

“Because you saved me,” the man said. “I think perhaps you would have had an easier time on your own.”

The Warden shrugged in what Maxwell considered a polite attempt at false modesty.

“I think perhaps introductions are in order,” Maxwell said, though he had a suspicion about who this Grey Warden could be.

“Right,” the Warden said. “You first.”

“I am Maxwell Trevelyan,” Maxwell said.

“The Inquisitor!” The blonde man said.

“The name’s Aedan,” the Warden said. He nodded towards the other man. “This is Jean.”

Maxwell smiled. “Aedan Cousland, I presume?”

Jean spun his head towards Aedan.

“Wait,” he said. “The Hero of Ferelden? You’re the Warden that ended the Blight?”

“With significant help, yes,” Aedan said.

“Why did you not say anything?”

Aedan shrugged. “I don’t go around introducing myself like, ‘Hello, my name is Aedan Cousland, I’m the Hero of Ferelden. You may have heard of me.’ That’d make me sound like a twat.”

Maxwell heard Sera snicker, and a scratching noise that he assumed was Varric furiously scribbling in his notebook.

“Morrigan mentioned you would be arriving today,” Maxwell said.

Aedan smiled. It was a goofy grin that Maxwell would not expect from any kind of legendary hero. From a man in love, on the other hand? Definitely.

“Yeah? Well, better not keep her waiting. She detests waiting. And Jean needs urgent medical attention.”

Aedan stood up and helped Jean to his feet. The man’s side had a red stain running along it. It was wrapped in strips torn from what looked like a heavy blanket. Maxwell nodded. The thicker material would do a better job at absorbing and stopping blood flow.

“Try not to move too much,” Aedan said.

“I can barely move at all,” Jean said.

“Good,” Aedan said. “Keep it that way.”

“Can you ride?” Maxwell asked, stepping in to support Jean from the other side.

“I have not ridden much, my lord. But I can stay on a horse.” Jean said, then immediately stumbled on a rock.

“I think perhaps you’ll need some help staying upright. Bull, take him on your dracolisk.”

“Can do, boss,” Bull said.

Jean blanched when he saw the giant lizard.

“What in the maker’s name is that?”

“Dracolisk,” Bull said. “Has an easier time carrying big guys like me. Shouldn’t be too hard to carry the both of us.”

Maxwell noticed Aedan looking around. “Lost something?”

“Yeah,” Aedan said. “My horse ran away. Don’t suppose you have spares?”

“That...would have been a good idea,” Maxwell said.

“Here,” Cassandra said. “You can have my horse.”

“What will you ride?” Maxwell asked.

In response she climbed on to his horse, looking over her shoulder expectantly. There was only space to climb on behind her.

“Works for me,” Maxwell said, shrugging.

They set off for Skyhold, Maxwell sending Sera ahead to tell the soldiers to come harvest scales, bones, and blood from the dragon. They could always use the supplies for arms, armor, and Reavers.

Aedan sidled his horse up next to Maxwell.

“Thank you, by the way,” Aedan said.

“What for?” Maxwell asked.

“For taking care of them.”

Maxwell glanced back at the dead dragon.

“I feel that, overall, it was in my best interest.”

Aedan laughed, though there was a hard glint in his eye.

“Yes,” he said. “It was.”

#

By the time they arrived at Skyhold, Jean was sweating from the pain. Healers were waiting for them, and they helped him off Bull’s dracolisk and on to a litter.

His family was waiting for him, they rushed over at the same time that he was being helped onto the litter. Lisette stood anxiously waiting for him to be settled.

“Jean!” She cried. “Are you all right?”

“I am fine,” Jean said, contrary evidence aside as he winced. “Are you well?”

“Oh Jean!” She took his hand and held it tightly as he was carried through the courtyard.

“Papa!” His girls cried.

As he was being carried away, Jean looked over and saw Aedan was on his knees and holding a boy close, who looked to be around René’s age. As Jean was carried inside, the Hero of Ferelden and his son walked further into the keep, followed by the Inquisitor and a hooded woman. He was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay, I had ideas of where I wanted to take this story, but none of them excited me much anymore. Then I realized the problem was I was tired of not having Aedan in this story. The things I was planning to do weren’t crucial, and I felt that bringing the Warden home was the right way to go. So I had to make some changes to my outline. And then Nanowrimo happened and I’ve been working on my original fiction with no time for anything else. I was going to start this up again in December, but November exhausted me so I just took it easy. Now I’m back and should be able to get a few more chapters of this out. Hope you enjoy it.


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